VUWTC HEELS 2022

Editor in Chief

Morris

2022 HEELS SUB-COMM

Kia ora! Welcome to the 2021/22 edition of Heels, VUWTC's annual-ish roundup of our assorted shenanigans. There’s something for everyone: poems and puzzles, reviews and how-to’s, and plenty of tales of adventure and misadventure. My endless gratitude goes out to the Heels design and edit team, who have spent countless hours turning photo albums and pages of plain text into the gorgeous pages you’re about to read. Thank you to the many people who contributed content - We couldn’t have done it without you! I have slid into many DMs over the past few months and everyone has been so generous with their time and talent. Last but not least, thank s to everyone in the club for making it such an eclectic, adventurous, joyful ecosystem. Heels is partly for bragging rights, but most of all it’s a celebration of us. Hope you enjoy!

Kate Morris, Content Wrangler & Guardian of The Spreadsheet

Page Design

McLachlan

Proof Reading Neve Hopman

Visual Design Kathleen Griffin

Any views, opinions or recommendations are soley those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of the club. No part of this publication or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted without prior consent from the respective author and publisher, unless otherwise indicated. Although information presented in Heels is, to our knowledge, accurate and credible, authors are students and are not necessarily experts in their respective subject matter. If you have any complaints about any antics presented in the following pages, please remember this publication is a work of fiction, typed out by monkeys, and all photos are 1 to 5 scale miniatures created in the Weta Workshop basement.

ENJOY!

Jones

Ovis aries

Bleetings fellow sheep, lost or still in the flock.

As I write this, the New Zealand government has just lifted some of the last public health restrictions on mask wearing and isolating put in place during the Covid 19 pandemic – pre-2020 ‘normality’ is coming ever closer. By the time you read this, maybe in some far away South Island DOC hut in 2026, the chaos and weirdness of the last 2 years may be a forgotten memory; the dictionary definition of coronavirus will once again be “the morning-after consequence of too many lemoninfused beers”.

But it would be an injustice not to reflect in the present moment the impact this outbreak has had on all of us, and on our routines. Many of us in the club have had Covid – and for some, the health effects have lasted weeks, if not months. We’ve had countless club trips cancelled, postponed, and altered due to travel restrictions and isolation orders. Our international membership, while normally thriving with all sorts of languages, cultures and experiences, has vastly diminished due to border closures and restrictions – “fush and chups” has only been growing more intrenched in the club’s dialect (and my waistline).

Given the adversity, it is remarkable just how much our club has achieved over the last year, and how many people have been coming along – to meetings, tramps, climbing nights, parties, tacos, and to other gatherings that can’t be merely held online in a [insert your corporate video conferencing company of choice here] meeting. We had our first Bushball and our first Midwinter Christmas in 3 years. The Tararua Ranges were crawling with club members all year, day and night, for 2 hours at a time or 20. Wellington was viewed from many different angles, from the coastline of Kapiti, to the turbine of Brooklyn, in a combination of sun, torch and glowworm light. Even the climate tried to put a stop to things by not allowing any snow during Snowcraft. Nevertheless, try telling the six VUWTC parties that ventured into the remote South Island maunga over the mid-Trimester break that crampons are a thing of the past!

None of this could have been achieved without the extremely hard work and passion put into the club by the 2022 Committee. Kathleen with the plethora of trips filling the calendar every week. Liv with her cool head and detailed planning that helped communications and meetings go so smoothly. Nathan and Zita for getting everyone and everything paid for on time (and not siphoning off a cent into their secret trust fund…well unless it is super secret). Meike for turning up at the Hunter carpark literally every Wednesday evening, in the hope that at least 1 other person would like climbing as much as she does – more often

President’s Report

Patrick Hayes 2022

than not that 1 was followed by a second digit (and during Rockcraft it almost got to a third!). Amon for throwing the sickest Tramps Tramps Tramps party that I can remember…and no, not because it’s the only one I remember due to being sober this time. The list goes on, with too many people to single out in one paragraph! But know that I am extremely grateful for all your help, and that I think the club is in very safe hands going into the future.

Finally I’d like to single out Kate and her editing team for putting together the incredible publication you are about to read. I’ve been informed that the amount of trip reports is twice that of any previous year, which speaks to both the amount of trips that we’ve managed despite the restrictions, as well as Kate’s ability to pressure enough people in just the right way that they both want to create a report, and to actually get it in on time. The amount of organisation, creativity, communication and more that goes into getting something like this to print and in your hands is pretty insane, and you guys have done an amazing job. Read on for some great yarns and great-er adventures,

Patrick

The 2021/2022 commitee hand over - Camera ready smiles masking the trip plotting that was already underway. Photo by Felix Otteson, October 2021.

CHIEF GUIDE REPORT

By Kathleen Griffin

Nothing we write on these pages can truly capture all the amazing trips that have occurred this year. Many new friends were made, & many existing friendships flourished. There’s literally thousands of silly photos, inside jokes & weird tales that we can tell our nonhiking friends to make them say “wtf is up with that tramping club?” The Tararua Ranges came alive this year, with the sounds of VUWTC members laughing, chatting, snoring & complaining - & of course there’s always that overpowering noise of the dragonfly cookers.

We really have had a pretty full on year, with trips away almost every weekend. We’ve ventured up North, down South & the Tararua Forest has been well-explored. The hut bagging competition has also been going stong, with Tommy currently winning at 36 huts.

I will be the first to admit that I do spend a lot of my time chasing snow. Which is great because the university year conveniently skips Summer, & the Tararua Ranges are notoriously wet/windy/cold/cloudy/ generally unpleasant in winter. We had five mid winter trips this year to the South Island, one snowcraft, one ski trip & one more lodge trip with AUTC. We also encountered snow many times on the tops of our local stomping ground, & most of the time we were prepared for it. I only faceplanted in the snow twice, & accidentally froze my socks once, so I think I’m getting pretty okay at dealing with this cold white stuff!

Outside of the usual weekend missions, we have had a stellar amount of social & weeknight activities. If someone was truly dedicated to the club it would be theoretically possible to do a club activity every day of the week. Monday is trail runs, Tuesday is meeting + tacos, Wednesday is climbing night, Thursday is Weeknight Walkies, then of course the weekend is when we actually get into the bush! We also took photos, wrote trip reports, hosted a film festival, went orienteering, bikepacked, pack-rafted, day-walked, bush-raved, bush-balled & ate soooo many tacos.

As the de facto “Safety Officer” I am pleased to announce that no PLBs were set off, no calls were made to LandSAR, & our Worst Injury Billy Award is likely going to a relatively minor injury. We had members attending both one & two day first aid courses, the Hillary Outdoors avalanche course, & we purchased a new PLB. While I do love a good nearly-died-on-a-tramping-trip story, I am going to mark this year as successfully riding the line between safety & hardcore tramping.

To “summit” up, I’ve had an absolutely primo year, with top-teir people, going on some mint hikes, in the most breathtaking places on earth. I simply cannot wait to do more of it. I hope the joy from our adventures translates well onto these pages.

My year started off something like this, a summer among the rocks… So by the time I got back to Wellington I was pumped to exercise my role as climbing officer and get as many people into climbing as I possibly could. If there’s one thing I love to do it is getting people to fall in love with the activities I also love; in this case, sticking my hands in as many cracks as possible.

For the first few months of the year the weather behaved, the end of summer was kind, and we crammed in as many trips out to The Rak and Pukerua Bay as we could. Only a couple minor injuries occurred (Claudia’s poor nose), but other than that we seemed to have gotten away mostly injury free this year. Rock craft went ahead without any disasters, apart from maybe my sanity when sitting in the library the week before doing nothing except transport organisation and thinking about how it was going to be possible to get 60 people on a wall with only 20 climbs - somehow it happened. The fact that most people have come along on a climbing night since leads me to calling that chaotic day a success, and although I was hoping to get more people climbing outside post rock craft, the weather didn’t really seem to agree.

The lack of outdoor climbing post-Rockcraft made everyone sad and so the decision was made to run a trip down to Paynes Ford in Tākaka over the first trimester break - fully booked ferries ended this plan reasonably quickly. A second attempt at an away from Wellington trip was up to Kawakawa Bay in Taupō - however dire weather cancelled this trip as well. By the time we set our sights on a third attempt most people had made other plans or couldn’t come along so the trip to Kawakawa Bay ended up being only three of us: Jim, Nick and I. Details of this trip will be posted elsewhere in this book but it was chaotic, that’s all I’ll say.

In terms of weekly climbing at Hangdog, which is actually 99.9% of my job, the atmosphere of the group has been truly amazing! We have a group of about 10 who come along religiously - one of which will probably steal my job next year, and new people coming along every week. Obviously we are all there for the climbing, but I think most people you ask are there for the social aspect too (I spend about 50% of my 2 hours at the gym chatting) and this cool group of climbers really brings that chill vibe. Working together to solve a climb is 100% more satisfying than working it out yourself and I’ve made so many cool friends running these weekly climbing sessions who will hopefully keep coming back next year. Seeing people improve and get more confident on the wall and seeing the excitement light up in their eyes when they figure out something extra tricky is what makes this the best role in the club (not at all biased).

Also a quick shout out to Jim and Nick who kept the climbing wall in the dungeon of the uni gym alive! Many hours between classes were spent in there forgetting about the horrors of uni. Keep it up boys!

I hope that after I’ve handed this roundup in, the weather will finally realise that it’s actually spring and give us some good days to get back out on the rocks. I do love the rainbow plastic holds of Hangdog but nothing beats actual filthy gritty greywacke beneath your fingers. By the time 2023 comes around, a summer trip to Kawakawa Bay will have happened and it will have been epic, I hope you’re all on it! Keep your hands in cracks, and your feet off the ground.

CLIMBING ROUNDUP

By Meike Pummer (your 2022 climbing officer)

middle: The Chaos of Kawakawa Bay

bottom: Creating new boulders out at The Rak with route setting extraordinaire Jim.

REDUCE, REUSE, RE-WALK OVER

PART 1: WAYBACK WHEN

Conservation officer. It's a role on the committee. Last year it was Sam's, now it's mine, I'll hand it off to the next fairly soon.

I've been commanded to write this by tomorrow, so here's a spiel for the heels about how our club has been getting way more involved with the locals (local conservation efforts). Here's a rewrite of the happenings in the years of our lord, twenty-twentyone/two.

In 2021, Sam was handed the role of conservation officer: it had been sitting about for a few years, and was more nominal than practical. No one could remember what it really meant to begin with, and it was the committee role for people who didn't want to do stuff.

Sam picked up the position and essentially rebooted the conservation side of the club: he created the practices that I've carried over this year, and without his effort, the conservation officer role would still likely be for the drifters.

ONTO THE STUFF!

THINGS SAM DID: WEEDING

Sometime last year, Sam and a small horde of eager helpers lent a hand with some weeding efforts in Prince of Wales Park. I was not there, and can't give a clear run down, but I assume they killed some plants to help out the others, good stuff.

ONTO WHAT I KNOW MORE ABOUT

PART 2: NO CLUB IS AN ISLAND

Matiu: it sits there in the harbour, and in the past few years, we’ve been out there a few times. There was an excellent conservation trip to the island last year, but this year’s imitation was confined to the daylight hours. I am going to recount it for you now.

We woke up to snow, or maybe you’d call it sleet, regardless, it was hypothermic. Only the bravest made it to the dock - there were six of us.

We were rewarded for our perseverance with a clearing of weather as we ferried out to Matiu.

On the island, we met Ranger Devi, who gave us vests and weapons of destruction before setting us on some flax. We had two knives and a shit-ton of secateurs and charged the scrub to clear a path for walkers. It was a good day all in all.

CONSERVATION OFFICER’S REPORT BY XANTHE SMITH

TH AT HILL AND GET MORE PLASTICS!

PART 3: LET'S GO TO THE BEACH (Beach)

I can't write this without yarning about beach cleanup. We've done a fair few of them. Maybe 6 or 7. Feels like more.

Way back, in 2021, Sam came across Sustainable Coastlines while scouting for productive conservation things for the club to latch onto. This monitoring organisation presented us with Opau Bay as a cleanup site, since few other parties wanted to trek over the hill to pick up rubbish. Opau is a very scenic spot and on a fine day, you can scrounge around on the beach while basking in views of the South Island. On a more standard day, it's a windy, exposed den of sea debris and annoyed birdlife. This all translates to it being an excellent spot to mount a project. We've collected monumental amounts of plastic from this beach for categorisation over multiple trips.

We've had some good finds over the years, some massive mussel buoys, jandals, dangerous substances, festering things of all sorts. On our first cleanup, I scavenged a Mr Potato Head toy, and it lived in our flat for many months.

During these trips, we collected a lot of crap. Now that litter won't kill any native seabirds. I think our conservation projects have helped the club seem a bit more generous, as our regular reputation is one of frolicking around the mountains, narrowly avoiding mortality and graffiti-ing sheep everywhere.

The plastics we collected and logged made a significant dent in Opau Bay's litter pile. It's a healthier beach for our efforts. If we ever come across an albatross in the Tararua ranges, I hope two thoughts follow. Firstly, what is this bird doing here. Secondly, you’re welcome.

PART: END OF SPIEL

I'm really thankful for all of you who came to conservation events this year. Conservation work is shorthand for manual labour, and despite all of the greenwashing, it's still hard yakka. I'm proud of those who have readily hauled plastic, cut harakeke, and put up with some horrifying weather conditions to support the wildlife and landscapes that make tramping a delight.

Here's to conserving stuff, Xanthe

100 YEARS OF VUWTCING IT UP.

100 years of being busy, sexy and exciting. Tramping, climbing and mountaineering. Planning, plotting and scheming. Vehemently ignoring deadlines, style, and the invention of trousers.

In 2021 we celebrated the centenary of the club with a slap up covid friendly banquet and speakers from every decade back to the 1940s. We wrapped up the century with a classy, spirited botanical piss up.

Reach out to a commitee member for a copy of ‘Ye Olde Heeles; Highlight Reeles’, the centennial Heels round up.

Left, Submitted by ex-club member Jenny Visser. Taken circa 1986. This Page, Event photos taken by Patrick Hayes, 16th October 2021

O the Poetry

Before you lift the item, it draws you in, with a daring exterior and well-constructed appeal.

It is combination of wood and iron that knit together into hardlines. It has a sturdiness that makes you want to lift and strike it against the nearest object in a test of its strength, and your own.

Once held in the hand, this object carries a heaviness that rests in your shoulder and a sharp chill that cools the palm.

That unfriendly exterior is walked back by a beautiful length of cord that secures the item to the wrist, and the way it warms to the holder after a few minutes.

It doesn’t carry much of a scent, but it certainly gives off vintage air – and on sight alone, it looks as though it hasn’t been properly used in decades.

I can vividly imagine its use being accompanied by the crunch of snow and the clip of iron again ice.

2

The object is most comparable to a link, a meeting of elements, human, and other, built to steady its user in an environment that unmoors.

This object is grounding as the bowline is to belay, clip to helmet and boot to the rocky surface.

At the opposite end is a vanishing point, jagged as the ridge, lethal as a spear aimed to mark.

There are stories inlaid into the object’s wooden handle, the length of bronze weathered and scarred by decades of use.

These cuts and bruises speak to impulsivity and discretion – how many close calls has it assisted in, only to return intact from every near miss.

Who has it accompanied, an ally in the ascent and defender on the downhill.

3

Wood and iron knit together into hard lines, sturdy and well-worn, making you want to lift the ice-axe and strike it against the nearest surface to test both its strength, and your own.

The ice-axe bears a balanced head, which is bookended by an adze at one end and a pick at the other.

Once held in the hand, the tool carries a heaviness that rests in your shoulder, and has a sharp chill that cools that palm.

The iron adze found at the head of axe resembles a shovel and serves a similar purpose. When traversing over steeper sections of ice, it can be swept back on forth across the frosty ground to create footholds.

As you move to the extremities of the item the requirements of the environment establish themselves. It has a distinctive peak, with a saddle of cast iron welded to cut, dig, clear, and stop.

While this specific sweeping looks cool, the more common use for the ice axe is akin to a walking pole.

of an Ice Axe

As you plod around the backcountry, you can carry the axe it in your uphill hand and drive it into the ground with each stride for stability.

In this way, the axe has a grounding effect, akin to bowline and belay, clips to helmets and boot-soles to rocky surfaces.

Aside from being a walking companion, the pick has a more serious purpose - which when done correctly, can be lifesaving.

If you slip on the ice and begins to slide downhill, the ice-axe can be used to halt your fall in a trick known as self-arresting – this where you force the pick into the snow and brace the adze against your chest, creating enough friction to slow your slide, and if executed correctly, stop altogether.

There are stories inlaid into this axe’s wooden handle, a beam of tan which has been weathered and scarred by decades of use. These battle scars speak to the impulsivity and discretion of the trampers it has accompanied, serving an ally in the ascent and defender on the downhill. It makes me wonder how many close calls the axe has aided in, returning intact from every near miss.

FIN.

‘How to NOT use an Ice Axe’

‘How to use an Ice Axe for your Instagram’

‘How to use an Ice Axe. Sensibly’

Photos: Gracie Scott, Xanthe Smith, Helena McLachlan

How to go Canyoning 101 (but more like 51 because 101 steps takes way too long)

A ‘you-can’t-be-too-accurate’ guide by Meike Pummer

1. Beg Patrick to be added to the canyoning group chat 2. Watch the group chat for months but never actually go on any trips 3. Wait at least another two months after being added before actually saying yes to any of the trips that Craig suggests (terrible excuses only) 4. Finally say yes to a trip and ditch whatever other tramping club trip you’ve signed up for 5. Feel slightly guilty about it but not really 6. Don’t pack the night before – pack day of, it really gets the heart racing in preparation for this crazy thing you’re about to do 7. Forget at least ½ the things you’re expected to bring 8. While the others meet at Hunter carpark at 10am (we’re not about early starts) be that super annoying person who lives out in Eastbourne and get someone to come pick you up 9. Find some more things to faff about – fill up the car and forget to put the fuel cap back on (sorry Colan) 10. Drive past the road to Staglands and wish you were going there instead 11. Get to the road end 12. Hunt around for blackberries 13. Unload the car full of shit 14. Craig turns up and I realize I actually have met this mysterious Craig before! 15. Put everything you’re bringing into dry bags in false hope that they’re actually going to stay dry 16. Watch as Craig and Francis (The Pros) put their stuff into actual dry bags 17. Mentally add 10 more things to your already very long ‘to buy’ list of expensive outdoor equipment 18. Unpack and repack your bag 5 times to make sure you have your lunch (and an orange and some nuts - maybe this packing the

day of business is not where it’s at), warm clothes and all the other necessary equipment (extra faff is always welcome)19. Finally leave the car park 20. Walk the 45 minute track toward the start of the canyon 21. Get really hot and think about how difficult it is going to be to put your wetsuit on when you’re this sweaty 22. Wish you had gone to Staglands instead (I hate hills) 23. Use the ropes to scramble down the bank to the stream 24. Feel slightly let down by the ‘canyon’ which is actually a small stream with some boulders in itapparently it gets better but you’re not convinced... 25. Spend 10 minutes trying to put on your wetsuit which you really need soap for but you didn’t bring because you packed 10 mins before you had to leave 26. Step into the river and realize you should have held off on that extra layer of socks because your feet are going to freeze anyway and you’ve just delayed the process 27. Clamber your way down the stream being careful to not get too wet because you’ll get cold way faster 28. Find the first canyon station! 29. Realize your effort to not get wet was in vain because you’re about to abseil through a waterfall 30. Get Craig to show you how to abseil even though you’ve done it a million times because you need validation 31. 10 seconds worth of panicking before calmly lowering yourself into the canyon 32. Get halfway down the waterfall and get your hair stuck in your ATC because the world wants to give you another reason to shave all your hair off 33. Watch everyone

else do it a lot more smoothly than you did and thank yourself for being the trip’s entertainment (because we all have things to be thankful for) 34. Make it through a few more waterfalls without mishap - having the best time of your life, very random topics of conversation 35. LUNCH! - best orange I’ve ever had 36. The final waterfall :( 37. Nick fell from about ½ way - was a small waterfall do not worry 38. Wander the rest of the way down the stream to the main river 39. Float the rest of the way to the carpark down all the shingle rapids and do much rock jumping 40. Get to the car and unpack some very wet and heavy ‘dry’ bags 41. Put on other people’s clothes because you forgot to bring your own 42. Head to the blueb farm instead of heading home because you’re not ready for this adventure to end. 43. Eat a lot more blueberries than you pick (and spit them on other people) 44. Find alpaca and goats! 45. Try and make alpaca noises 46. Accidentally send a family into the goat pen and watch the goats chase them behind a fence 47. Climb back into the car and try not to puke blueberries everywhere... 48. Pump the heater and tunes because everyone is freezing 49. Get the blessed driver to drop you all the way back in Eastbourne 50. Think about writing the trip report the next day (Important to just think about it, don’t actually write the trip report) 51. Sit in the library around 3 - 4 months later inspired to write a canyoning 101 for the trip report but only getting to 51 because you only set yourself a 30 minute procrastination window (Some uni must be done, lame excuse, I know).

Sexy canyon suits! - Colan Balkwill

Sexy canyon! - Colan Balkwill

Connor, Gracie, Cas & Greg

At the top of the maunga

Delta chair

Gracie having a wee kip

and 20

Birthday cake at the lodge

Cafe lunch

Snowboard slug disaster

A very slippery walk to the lodge

Eyeing up the walk

Daniel boarding Lodge sunrise

Winter Solstice on Zit Saddle

Dislocated from society, All the plot holes and Sinkholes and Molehills to make Mountains of, Just specks, On the horizon. Sometimes, When all the tripLines and deadlines And flatlining punchlines Get too much, You need a real Mountain.

The crisp air Takes your hand, Capering around. Figurative fog, Weeded from your brain. Outdoors, everything Seems Dislocated.

It’s easy to lose yourself in The continuity of your surroundings And in the subtle changes And the empowering belittling Feeling and the unrealistic Realisticness of it all and, And lose your train of thought.

Everything seems so beautifully balanced. The literal fog is a beautiful hazard.

Concentrate on each step, Why contain your excitement?

The figurative fog, Gone. Like My Balance.

The glinting lights Hanging from the ceiling Of the A&E waiting room, Are no match for the stars that Hung just out of reach. The nurse comes out much later; I barely recognise my name, As I’m still atop a mountain.

“Dislocated”.

Photo by Helena McLachlan, 2021

DISLOCATED, 2021 Poem by AnE Frequenter, Helena McLachlan

Harper’s Rock Biv

Alternatively titled Patrick and the Very Good Not Bad Days

By Rachel Smith - featuring four lost sheep!

Like many tramps, this one began with much Faff. After a day of collecting various people and bits of forgotten gear, we set off for Fox Glacier. Tipping rain and flooded roads made for an exciting drive, and I was relieved when my car made it to Fox in one piece. We set out the next day in fine weather, but not before calling Hamish and arranging for him to drive from Invercargill to meet us at the first hut that night. The walk into Cassel’s Flat Hut was leisurely, with a lovely afternoon in the sun and playing cards. Finally, at 11 pm Hamish arrived from Invercargill and we had a team of 5 together: Ivan, Hamish, David, Patrick, and myself. Big thanks to David for all the lovely photos included in this post.

Day 2 the trip began in earnest. We crossed the cableway, and wandered up Regina creek to one of the wobbliest 3-wire bridges I have been on, which was anchored to a tree. From here, the track climbed steeply to Cone Saddle, and we all felt the weight of a week’s food on our backs. Bedrock slab with thinly glued trees made for a couple of exciting bits. From the Cone Hill ridge, we traversed across an interesting slabby tussock slope and descended to Horace Walker hut. It was a beautiful spot surrounded by striking bluffs and peaks.

The most challenging day was getting to Harper’s rock Biv. The lake traverse had a scary section, sidling steep moraine-y scree above bluffs, which took us a long time to negotiate. We got to the biv mid-afternoon and enjoyed a swim and early tea, before attempting to ascend Douglas saddle. We ended up not consulting the route guide, and took the wrong route which was cut-off by bluffs. Tail between our legs, we returned to Harpers rock biv for the night, psychologically drained from a day on steep, bluffy terrain.

Day 4 was the finest day of the trip. We got up early to get up Douglas saddle (on the correct route this time) then followed easy snow slopes to the summit of Gladiator. Our afternoon was more challenging, descending Mt Howitt in the clag. At one point we encountered a small bluff which some party members abseiled off, and others jumped! We arrived at Christmas Flat hut exhausted.

We had a big sleep-in followed by hash browns at Christmas flat. However, with 3 days of heavy rain forecast we were wary of being trapped behind flooded side streams and ended up walking out in a day…our fourth 10+ hour day in a row. However, we did have time for a couple of swims stops along the way and dinner at Cassel Flats Hut. We arrived at the car in the middle of the night to a flat battery… typical! Thankfully we got it started nice and easily.

Despite being a whirlwind trip, doing most of it in just 4 days, there were many lovely moments of swimming in the streams, playing cards, and delicious meals (thanks Ivan!).

Lunch near Gladiator Summit.

Enjoying dinner at Harper’s Rock Biv.

Some pack hauling on the sidle.

Photos by David Sik

Papatahi CrossingPapatahi Crossing

Date: 12 September 2021

Participants: Patrick, Amon, Alex P, Dugal, David, Michael, Davis, Hamish, Stephen

In some ways, the end of an era…with 3 of these long-time club members relocating to the South Island over the next few months, and a 4th long-time member relocating to the VUW computer lab. Apparently PhDs consume your time. And your soul.

So what better way to celebrate/commiserate than a day-slog through the Remutaka Ranges. We did a car swap, with half the folk starting from the Wairarapa, and the other half from Wainuiomata (including myself). After an easy stroll around the new kiwi enclosure in the park, we ambled down to the Orongorongo River, and up to Papatahi Hut for lunch. This is one of about 50 huts that lie along the length of this river - but unfortunately, pretty much all of them are either privatelyowned, or privately-bookable…no flashing of the backcountry hut pass on arrival to score a bunk for the night.

Later on though, we would pass one of the few ‘normal’ DOC huts in this park - Wharepapa Hut has probably seen better days, but is still as colourful as ever, both inside and out. We’d passed the other group just before this hut, and did notice the wind seemed to be picking up a bit. This was very noticeable once the final farmland stretch was reached in the afternoon - we (and the sheep around us) almost got blown off our feet on several occasions.

Having been thinking about doing a Tararua Range tops trip instead of this one, we were pretty glad not to be up there. This was later even more justified when we heard about a search and rescue mission that was happening up there at the time. The final crux was crossing the farm effluent lovely roadside stream, which probably got some of our boots dirtier than the rest of the trip put together. The Featherston fish and chips tasted pretty good after that.

Written by Patrick Hayes

Matiu Somes Island 2021

Digging Shitters

by Nicholas Jones

This tramp was organised as a result of people shitting in bushes.

Its aim was to stop people shitting in bushes and start shitting in holes.

This was achieved and people shat in holes instead of bushes.

A trio of shovel-bearing, sleepy-eyed musketeers set off into the wilderness with their sights set on Sayers hut. The first was Mariano, the second Amon, and the third Nick. Possums were seen, kōura were watched and yarns were had. However, all did not go as smoothly as the calm and clear night suggested, suddenly the trio were stopped in their tracks after entering Totara Flats. Alarm bells rang as their torches brushed over the huge red eyes of what appeared to be a wolf. It circled the trio in the tall grass until it was out of sight, shovels were gripped and then released as the wolf appeared through the bushes with a smile and wagging tail. It turned out to be a hunter’s dog who had gone walkabouts. The trek continued, the trio uneventfully arriving at Sayers Hut to find two hunters who’d managed to drink through a box of beers and half a bottle of whiskey. The pair were nice enough, appearing very dusty in the morning as the trio debated when to leave to dig the shitters. Shitter digging began at 9:00 AM, completed by 10:30, and enjoyed by 11:00 with an indulging swim in the river. A paced walkout was appreciated, alongside meeting Mariano’s mother and father halfway. The rest of the trip was rather exciting, passing through NZ’s only Booktown Featherston, getting car sick on the Remutaka Hill and arriving back in the windiest city on earth.

Amon was going to ride a helicopter dangling a cast-iron bathtub (generously donated by Meike), I was going to swim in a tarn, we did neither. Amon was going to paint Penn Creek. I was going to straddle a ladder and some chains. We did neither. Amon was going to float down the Otakitwo per one person pack raft, I was finally going to put together a trip that worked out the way I’d imagined. We did neither. I’ll blame it on the wind. What we did do was grow these mishaps into Maungahuka Take 3 – an epic you’re sure to hear referred to more than once in this publication.

The weather forecast was poor. 90km/h winds and clag on some of the most exposed ridges in the range? No, that wouldn’t be safe. Never mind, this was the first trip I was leading as a member of the club. Before I’d only dragged friends out – no accountability there (they should know better than to trust me). I opted to keep it safe. We left late Friday afternoon and sauntered up to an empty Field Hut. Sithmi’s bag was about as big as her, and yet she emanated only joy, not least at the glowing green Pūriri moth that decided to hitch a ride with us for nearly a kilometre. Poor thing flitted off before it got to taste the dinner I’d prepared. Joe found a rākau that should’ve been eaten by deer - it hadn’t been. A rare sighting and a hint at hope for some of the local flora. Chris was chipper as ever, looking forward to his new experiment – Raro and vodka.

Back to that dinner – fresh off the Heaphy where I’d decided to pair gourmet and ultralight, I had made the executive (perhaps life changing) decision that food is more than just energy. Food is pleasure, motivation to go on, something to look forward to and a luxury in the wilderness like no other. Nights eating lukewarm ramen could **** off. We dined as royalty do, tortillas, beans, capsicum, fresh avocado and spiced rice.

Waking up the next morning, long before the others, I hiked up to Tabletop, spectator to the rolling clouds dancing through the peaks. This is the weather that makes my knees weak. Bluebirds are boring – I want drama. The rest of the troupe rose to banana bread and peanut butter and freshly brewed coffee. The day seemed bright. Until we looked outside. Those clouds I’d watched caressing the peaks were now downright coddling them. Not long before we’d be locked into their cool embrace too. No bother, onwards to Kime.

Clinging to the side of the main range! - Colan Balkwill

Kime Hut - Colan Balkwill

What can I say about the walk? It was damp and cold. We couldn’t see much. Joe found some plants*. They were good plants. We’ll go see them again. I took a photo. Chris is in it. We made it to Kime. Tea was brewed.

Amon’s far out trip to paint Penn Creek had been cancelled, so he and Sherwyn had decided to meet us there. They’d be out there somewhere too. In the meantime we lazed about and stayed warm. Not too long after they rolled into the hut and we opted for some adventure – the forecast wind had picked up. Fancy getting blown off of Hector? We did. Onwards and upwards, swept off our feet, stumbling, clag racing up the sheer slopes. A break, a view. No it’s gone. Ah, the summit. Cowering in the grass. My pants!

I feel it necessary to interlude here. I lost my pants. Ripped from my person they rode the wind like I’d imagine a big wave surfer rides the waves – on and on into the depth of the Tararuas. Perhaps a bird of prey is a better visual. Trace any cryptozoological reports of Haast’s eagle finding refuge in these ranges right back to my pants - I’ve done the leg work for you (pun - because one always needs to point a pun out).

We found ourselves back in Kime scoffing green curry and hot chocolate and a game of cards before bed. Strolled back the way we came Sunday and had an hour long swim in the Waiotauru.

Chris enjoyed his Raro by the way. I’m yet to see him drink anything else on any trip since.

*Joe’s plants include but are not limited to: Vegetable sheep, Tutāhuna, Coprosma perpusilla, Ranunculus spp., Phyl lachne colensoi, Brachyglottis bidwillii, and 80 more…

Stay tuned for the saga continues in Maungahuka Take 3...

Text and Photos by Colan Balkwill

Puriri Moth, Aenetus virescens - Colan BalkwillEasy, Breezy, Cover Gals - Colan Balkwill

a VUWWCxVUWTC

Collab

May 2021

As a part of VUW’s Women’s Week 2021, the VUW Women’s Collective commissioned an iconic VUWTC tramp.

Ask and yee shall receive:

In an unprecedented show of chaotic iconisism, all 14 women who signed up for the planned trip to Barney’s Whare, Turakirae Head piked, leaving known feminist Nicholas Jones the only participant. Here’s to Women’s Week 2022.

Below: Nick being an ally.

A Review of the ‘Nick and Mariano Tramping Experience’

By Isaac Black

The Experience

Despite facing some troubles of Easter weekend traffic and finding the turn off, we made it to the track. On the plus side, the Friday public holiday allowed us to start in daylight. Friday’s journey featured a scenic traverse along the river. We did not have to do any trespassing (always a plus). On Saturday, we summited Kapakapanui. This was followed by our exciting bush bashing session to traverse the ridge, and subsequently hike back to the Otaki forks carpark (with a slight detour for a swim). One of my favourite parts of hiking are river crossings. As it so happened, we completed 132.34 river crossings on this hike. All kinds of rivers; long ones, cold ones, smaller ones. At one point, someone told me “nah that’s actually a puddle”. In my opinion, that one still counted as a successful crossing.

Accommodation

Although previously described as the worst hut in the Tararuas, this hut should now be called the Best Attempted Hut. It is still a work in progress (with signs of construction happening), but it is getting there. A stay in Waiotauru hut will take you back to simpler times. It definitely makes you question what you really need in life. All four legs on a table? Questionable. No classic doc hut mats but one squeaky air mattress? That’ll do. A fire? Nah don’t really need that either. The next night in Kapakapanui Hut however, definitely exceeded my expectations. It was a cute little hut in the bushline. This hut only slept 6 people, so it allowed Nick to erect his ultralightweight tent and Mario to test his Fly as a cover for the night. A stay at Kapakapanui hut also provided a night time experience like no other. A campfire was of course provided, allowing us to meet the other hut-goers for the night. We even had a night sightseeing tour of the local wildlife, which included a sighting of a possum.

Food

If you wanted to buy an average meal in the CBD of Wellington, the cost would be around $20. Yet for that exact price (which also covered transport), Nick and Mario provided us with a culinary experience like no other. The first night’s meal featured fresh veggies in the form of a stir fry. The next night was a tantalising chili bean and rice dish. Truly unforgettable.

Summary

Nick and Mario were fantastic hosts that provided an unforgettable experience for our tramping group. I will be sure to recommend their tramping service to anybody else. As promised, we did play 500 and lose. Also, we were not the victim of any car break ins. So, overall it was a fantastic tramp. 5 out of 5 stars.

Kaweka Dehy Dreamin’

Helena McLachlan, Xanthe Smith, Nicholas Jones 3-6th June 2022 3 days, 3 nights 35km 2.7km total climbing 6 litres of rehydrated beans No regrets One regret.

A T P E N N C R E E K

Story tellers: Amon Carter and Xanthe Smith (and Helena McL, yeah! Hijacked!)

Spiritual supervisors: Meike Pummer, Colan Balkwill, Grace Park.

Where? The most beloved hut, paradise on Earth, Penn Creek. When? May 2021.

Whomst? & Wasp Tally: Jasper Kueppers: 4, Kieran Paton: 3, Swollen AF, Helena McLachlan: 3, Chris Russell: 1, Amon Carter: 2, Cécile Massiot: 30+, Xanthe Smith: 2, John Bryson: 0???

Here is our tale, told from the seats of Colan’s car on SH1, as we return from Helena’s 21st in the Foothills of the Ruahine Range, a mere 15 months later. Nice sunset but odd writing conditions. Thanks to Colan, Meike and Grace for feeding us snacks to feed our brains. We don’t recommend writing a trip report a year after the fact, but make yourselves comfortable.

AMON: As the 2020 Huts Officer, two backcountry whare, Penn Creek Hut and Carkeek Hut became my responsibility. I hadn’t been to either of these huts, and neither had anyone in my generation, so we set off to Penn Creek to remedy this at the first opportunity we got. We were guided by Kieran and Cecile, two veteran sheep who had visited Penn Creek numerous times before (Kieran allegedly lived out here in the early noughties). Heading to Ōtaki Forks at 5 on a Friday in time honoured fashion, we stopped at Lokanta kebab shop in Paraparaumu on the way (See Neve’s Kebab Review for more info!)

XANTHE: We arrived at the Ōtaki Forks Road End – which had transformed into a ‘big-fuck-off’ slip. We started walking several kilometres earlier than anticipated. Like troopers, we made our way over the sketchy slip site and beyond to the beginning of the Field Hut track. With a billy full of bananas and a sleeping bag that would soon be revealed as rotten; we were prepared for anything.

Walking to Field Hut in the dark is always a shorter slog than expected, which is why it is a tradition. Field is the oldest hut in the Tararua Ranges, and it looks like the Wizard of Oz tornado had dropped another farm house into the forest. With its second story loft, creepy colonial exterior and hand-me-down tales of a possum sized white rat, all indicators pointed to a fair night of sleep – This was about when I realised my sleeping bag had rotted through and become a smellier ghost of its former self. What followed was potentially the coldest half-sleep I have ever had, and a lesson learned: check your gear before setting out people!

AMON: My bananas fared very well the whole trip and I enjoyed some of them the next morning. We set out over Tabletop to the turnoff to Penn Creek. From Tabletop the track plunges down through tussock and forest into the valley, and is one of your steeper descents in the Tararua Range. On the way down we startled a deer (A Tahr? An aurochs? The relocated Fiordland Moose?) sitting right next to the track, which I remember a year later. We were plodding down the steep sections, climbing down tree roots, contented and charmed by the bush. Breaking the spell: “WASPS!!!” Our peaceful caravan became a stampede. People sprinting and leaping, slapping their legs and screaming bloody murder. It was exciting, in a near-death-experience kind of way. This happened again and again. At one point we all got out the other side except Xanthe who had disappeared. We waited a minute before going back through the storm to find Xanthe wrapped up like a mummy and waiting for the right opportunity. For the remainder of the walk we all wore every garment we’d packed.

XANTHE: Here is the notorious part of the story (every tramp has one): the wasps. I brought up the back. Wandering behind Jasper and Helena, I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention – until Chris called from up ahead to speed up but not mentioning anything about wasps. Once we found out about the wasps anyway, we became extremely attentive, scouring for signs of the wasps – those who had padded the wasp-spot took off running. I didn’t really see the nest until I was right on top of it. Stepping over a rise, I heard a low humming, like an electric fence waiting to zap – surely enough, I looked down to see a log cleaved in two, and shivering in the centre, the yellow pin points of the wasps. I picked up my pace, and began to run, but not before one landed on my hand and drove it’s stinger into a knuckle. It wasn’t actually a bad sting, more like a honey-bee than a paper wasp or hornet.

THE REAL CHAOS CAME WITH THE SECOND NEST.

The first was merely a taster, but we received a few stings and became weary. Within an hour, we would pass over the mother of all nests and be forced to run for our lives. It began with some yelling from the front of the line, and I being around 100 metres behind the very front person had no idea what was going on. As more people passed close to the nest, and the wasps got angrier and increasingly aggressive, the hollering rose in volume and the sound of stampeding began. It was a very steep, tree-rooty slope – so I was almost perched above the event, wondering what I was hearing. I stopped dead and listened until the screaming and crashing noise vanished off down the hill. The idea of being left behind was slightly concerning, but the prospect of having to walk past an aggravated wasp armada was even worse. SO I layered up, and covered all of my skin, and dressed like a tramping-naut. Walking through the wasp-hot-spot, I can confidently say they were pissed. Some landed on my arms and got their stingers stuck in my rainjacket, and others crawled over my sunglasses and buff. I sprinted full tilt downwards to shake them, and after around ten minutes of flailing I was reunited with the gang.

AMON: We got to Penn Creek about 4 hours after leaving Field Hut. Penn Creek is an old 6 bunk forestry hut in a shady valley by a stream. We were intrigued to check out our neglected palace and see what condition it was in, and had brought all manner of cleaning and repairing tools. We decided the hut was in top nick condition so after wiping the toilet walls down we took the mattresses outside for a siesta in the sun. Later that evening Jasper, Chris and I built a stone bench using river stones next to the door of the hut, perfectly sculpted for 3 bums. It is delightful to sit and tie bootlaces under the awning of the hut. I am happy to report it is still there as of February 2022. Only one (1) finger was crushed in the making of this bench, giving Helena flashbacks of a boulder being dropped on an important toe the past summer. No one had to be piggy-backed out down a river to the AnE THIS time.

We ended that night eating Nachos, drinking port and listening to Kieran and Cecile’s stories of tubing out from Penn Creek down the Otaki river. The stories were hair raising and Cecile said that if she had known what it was going like she wouldn’t have gone in the first place. This gave us the opposite of flashbacks to what would become Maungahuka Take 3.

AMON & XANTHE: The next morning we walked out over the direct track to Ōtaki Forks. Direct? Yes, we straight lined it from the river valley out. Track? No, we only made it out because Kieran lead us from muscle memory. The route is only maintained by people passing through (so get out there!!!). We had lugged loppers in over the tops and now put them to work. I remember Jasper trying to machete through supplejack and keikei. We put up flagging tape in a few places. I also remember clinging to ropes crossing slips and seeing goats tiptoeing around down below us. At one point Jasper was wielding a walking stick like an action figure and wielded it too close to Xanthe’s head, sending her involuntarily scree skiing. It’s a slow track, about 8km in 8 hours. That valley feels very remote considering it being so close to the Forks. We walked out at the end of the day feeling very wholesome but utterly plonked. We closed our walk how we opened it, with Lokanta Kebabs.

EPILOGUE: DOC later asked us to repaint the hut using a helicopter to drop equipment off. We said okay after bartering the deposit of a cast iron bath tub at the hut as well. The wind bitterly protested against this trip all summer. By the time you are reading this I hope this will have been carried out by our Huts Officers Colan and Mariano. With the invention of cross-time communication not yet mastered I have no way of knowing whether this dream has been realised - I guess you’ll have to go see for yourselves.

NY Carkeek Picnic Dugal Thomson

I first heard of this fabled Tararua Range epic, without explanation, at the very first welcome meeting. What a wholesome idea, I thought, to run the odd picnic into the bush for some fun catch-ups. It would be a few months before someone would tell me that this is a very much different kind of picnic, for a different kind of fun. Type two fun. A Carkeek picnic is a 50 km slog over the Tararua Ranges, beginning at Poads Rd, and ending at Holdsworth car park (or vice-versa). To qualify as a Carkeek Picnic, you must both pass Carkeek hut, said to be the remotest hut in the Tararua Ranges, and polish the whole trip off within 24 hours – cos it’s a picnic, just a wee day trip of 50km.

So we thought (you’ll keep in mind a tramper is a strange being), what better way to bring in the new year than tackle the Carkeek Picnic? With one (1) training run complete and still slightly (considerably) dusty from New Year’s Eve, Patrick, Alex and myself set off on the 1st of Jan 2022. What could go wrong?

With a complicated car swap complete, we set up camp at the Poads Road car park, slightly apprehensive of the monster that lay ahead. That night, Patrick got

a great sleep. Alex and I didn’t, because I had brought a fly instead of a tent, giving the mozzies free reign to be an absolute pain. Nevertheless, 4am came, and having smartly eaten breakfast and packed tents back into the car, we set off, carrying no more than a PLB, food, water, some layers, and a med kit.

The first 3 hours were a wonderful rock-hop up the South Ōhau. Arriving at South Ōhau hut (and the rest of the huts along the way), the conversation went something like this:

“Heya! Where you off to? (or for the afternoon, “where’ve you come from?”)

“Oh y’know, heading to Holdsworth carpark”

“Oh nice, good 2-3 days that”

“Yeah nah actually just doing it all today”

“[insert awkward silence and chuckle, as well as a concerned glare or a hearty good luck]"

Leaving the hut, with ‘I may be crazy but I am free’ having lodged itself in my head, we continued, passing Te Matawai and reaching Arete. At this point, Alex felt that with the lack of sleep over the last two nights, a reasonable day trip to Arete and back would be more for him, leaving Patrick and I to head on. By the time we were going over Lancaster, I was beginning to feel similarly burdened. The heat was giddying, and the physical challenge was fast morphing into a mental one. Cheering each other on throughout the trip was incredibly helpful, and it was this plus a bit of fake it ‘till you make it that got me to Carkeek hut for lunch, in 9 hours. Here we found an old hunting geezer, just chilling, having a cuppa. He was the keenest on our trip out of those we met, and also took the photo of us below at the hut. Only the finest photographers keep half a finger over the camera. Also note the picnic bars we're holding. Peak comedy, we know.

We took some more photos ourselves and sent on. Lunch gave me a second wind of sorts, and it was my turn to do some rallying. The route down from Carkeek into the Waiohine was twisty but uneventful. The Waiohine was beautiful, as ever. This brought us to Dorset creek, where the climb up past McGregor Biv began. The start was ok, conversation as good a force as muscle, but by halfway up we were both sore and tired. I found myself honestly struggling, but found to my surprise just how strong mental willpower can be. So long as I kept pessimistic thoughts out, I felt all the more powerful. We climbed on, reaching the ridge at about hour 14. Stumbling down to Jumbo hut, we found it absolutely packed with families. I didn’t know what to say, what would families think of our mission? But a kid solved the problem for me. She asked first from the balcony “Have you done the whole loop [holdsworth jumbo] today?!” I replied “yeah, yeah we have, and we aren’t stopping now!”. This got cheers from most of the kids there, which was a kind and welcome boost, regardless!

We tumbled down Raingauge Spur, and power walked out from Atiwhakatu Hut. Dusk fell about half an hour before the end, and although we had torches we just managed without them. 17 hrs and 10 mins all up. We got a tent from the other car, collapsed, and indulged in eggs bene and a waffle in Greytown the next morning.

So. A Carkeek Picnic renaissance. Lauren and Nick were the next to go, a few weeks later, going the other way. Nick reckons that their way is best, but who knows. Guess I’ll have to try it for myself.

Roaring Stag

It was a (rare) weekend with good weather, & the Tararua Forest was calling us. Saturday afternoon we strolled in from Putara Road & made it to the hut in good time. It was still a decently warm time of year so we decided to wander down the stream & go for a swim. Unfortunately we had forgetten that every river in the Tararua Ranges is absolutely freezing, regardless of the air temperature. We had some delicious pesto pasta for dinner & stayed up late playing Presidents. The next morning we headed back to the real world, already planning the next trip.

“Yeah nah actually just doing it all today”

Summiting Mt Taranaki

Exactly 7 years ago to this trip I broke my back in 6 places and was told I was lucky to be alive let alone lucky to be walking. I thought I would never be able to go tramping again due to tramping involving carrying a pack and standing up for multiple hours, of which I had not been able to achieve at the same time for almost 7 years. Only by the summer of 2021/ early 2022 was I FINALLY able to go tramping after having daydreamed about it for years. So no better way to mark the date than climb a mountain with my friends Colan, Meike, Amon and Tom.

On the way to Syme hut the forest was stunning thanks to thick layers of moss and lichen on the trees, but which didn’t last long until it was lots of wooden steps up tussocks. eventually the steps just ran out and the ground was suddenly large rocks and lots of gravel, so a mix of scree and rocks. There were just poles marking which side of the mountain to walk up and worn tracks from other people’s footsteps. I had never been on scree before so was a bit freaked out at how loose your footing is combined with the drop behind you. To be fair it wasn’t that steep to Syme but it was a new experience so was giving me the heebie-jeebies.

After walking and scrambling for 3 hours we got to Syme, and the plan was I would stay at the hut while the others attempted the summit of which a path was not marked. But Syme hut looks directly at the peak and I was on a high from having gone up 2 hours of scree and rock and come out unscathed so I decided to head up too. The mountain turns into far finer scree and at about half an hour to the summit I felt way out of my comfort zone because it was so steep that looking directly behind myself the ground went concave. If my footing wouldn’t have held on to a brand-new step that I had to take for every step, I could go plummeting to oblivion. Thankfully Amon volunteered to take the lead so I could grasp a little bit of security in stepping where he stepped, but still I was shaking and thinking it would be so nice to just squat down and wait for a helicopter to come get me. But I had no choice but to continue as at this point was not aware of how much easier it is to go down scree than it is to go up.

Finally, after about 1.5hrs of having left the hut we made it to the crater, with respect the local iwi we didn’t technically step on the summit which is the highest point on the crater lip, but we had amazing views all the way out to the ocean nonetheless. My friends had carried up a watermelon and were all cheerfully eating it while I was quietly freaking out about how I was going to go down the mountain after thinking my life was honestly at risk climbing up.

I recall on the drive up Colan, Amon and Meike were all ranting and raving about how ridiculously fun scree running is and I was still believing I would not be about to do it. But, after just a few mins of descent I was having a wicked time scree running. My entire mindset shifted from thinking I have traumatised myself putting my life at risk and still is not over, to experiencing one of the best feelings in the world; confidence in my body and my decisions and finally understanding the gravity of the situation that here I was 7 years later running down a mountain I had just tramped up. Halfway down to Syme we huddled together to watch the sunset which was extra special because we were above the clouds. This was a very special moment that I will cherish forever.

The night suddenly turned into a windstorm with icy mist, and we were camping so I’m pretty sure none of us slept much at all. It was sunny again the next day and I was so happy about the turnaround from the day before of freaking out for my life to feeling amazing and confident on the mountain that I was ok with the sleep deprivation. In all honesty I could never have predicted that I could climb to the top of Mount Taranaki.

Written by Emma Parker

We were sucessful in finding the big ol’ Northern rātā of the Akatawara Regional Park. While we cannot disclose the exact location of said rātā (mainly because we don’t know where we were when we did find it) we CAN attest to the ‘big ol’-ness’ of it.

“It was 42m tall! masiv.”

“Woof! Too big! Get me out of here!” -Baxter

“Pretty big, like, picture a normal tree but way bigger.”

“Big enough to house the whole of Taihape.”

“Bigger than Meike but smaller than Planet Earth.” -Colan

“Imagine an ant trying to hug an empty toilet roll.”

“XL.” -Bethany

“This big!” *aeroplane arms* -Helena

“So big I couldn’t get my hands around it.” :‘( -Meike

“Like that one tree in Avatar or My Neighbour Totoro.”

Pack rafts, late starts, muddy tarns

Party: Colan, Amon, Meike

Hypothesis: maybe carrying packrafts over one of the gnarliest routes in the Tararua ranges will save us some time

Methodology: Assemble 3 humans, 5 kebabs, 4 avos, 1kg of hummus, 2 packrafts, a mango, and a bag of cherries and set off into the hills

Results: it didn’t.

Outcomes: a pretty sweet haircut in the howling winds

Future Prospects: we need more packrafts!

Route description (times include faff which we did a lot of):

Day 1: Ōtaki forks to Field Hut - 3hrs

Day 2: Field Hut to Maungahuka Hut via Kime Hut - 9hrs

Day 3: Maungahuka Hut to Penn Creek Hut via Pakihore Ridge - 5hrs

Day 4: Packraft Penn Creek and the Ōtaki river to Ōtaki Forks - 7.5hrs

It’s the last week of summer break. Amon’s love for mud and the eternal walk down the Turere streambed has cemented us into an unstoppable trio. Lying on the asphalt, exhausted, our minds drift to adventures our newfound packrafting skills will open up. The Ōtaki, Maungahuka. It’s time to reach for dreams the wind had so sadly spoiled four months earlier. We made plans as we drove back to civilization, took Sunday off and reconvened on Monday with an utter excess of food. We were about to take the club’s pack rafts places they had no right to be. Did I mention we only had two?

I’ll wrap this up with some sapone of the most epic, jam packed adventures I’ve been on with two of the loveliest people I’ve ever known (and I’m no spring chicken y’all). We saw Taranaki from the ridgeline – it tickled our fancy and two days later we were making our way up to Syme Hut. We’ve been adventuring since. Some people you just don’t get sick of x

What was originally intended to be a casual stroll along the Tauherenikau River, turned into a mildly chaotic trip with 51 attendees. It was an entertaining walk in, with a steady flow of hikers causing a constant traffic jam. The new members proved that they definitely belong to us, by taking a dip in the extremely cold water below the bridge.

The plan was to spread out along the massive area in front of the hut, but unfortunately 50 high school students had the same idea & beat us to it. We pitched our tents in any space available & headed down to the river bed to enjoy our evening of beans, bevs & bonfires.

T A K I NG T U T U W AI OVER

BIOLUMINESCENCE

AT ORIENTAL BAY

We stripped to our undies, leaving piles of clothes on the grass. We ran across the sand beach –I think Amon was first in the water. We were egging each other on. “Come on in! It’s not that bad.” I waded in a little at a time. When I put my head under it was, as you would expect, a shock to the system. Cold, cold, cold.

Some brave souls sprinted along the pier and jumped in off the end (avoiding the sharp-looking rocks). They called out like sirens to the less brave. I was nearly swayed, but just stood on the pier, shivering, teeth chattering. But I wasn’t about to call it quits just yet –one last dip at the beach end. Tuscany pointed out how we’d been swimming in bioluminescence.

Close to the shore, the water was glowing a bright blue, some Avatar-type shit. It was v cool and slightly unreal. When you scooped up the sand in your fingers, it glittered. None of us had been expecting this, an added bonus.

By Anthony Baker

Dripping wet, we peeled our clothes back on. We were a little bit drunk on how * spontaneous * we’d been, and likely not thinking straight because of the cold. We huddled together near the shower cubicles and sang a song which I can’t remember. On the way back some questionable street crossings were made. Most of the party headed to Enigma for hot chocolates. But not me or Tuscany –we were too cold to hang around. We live near each other, and so when the group reached Enigma, we split off, saying our goodbyes, and power-walked back to our respective flats. I feel a little bit bad for my flatmates for showering at like 12.30 AM. But never has a warm shower been so good.

I can’t say for certain when this happened. There’s no evidence of it on the trip calendar. It’s like it exists only in our hearts, in our memories. Tacos was held on a wet Tuesday night at Nathan’s apartment. The apartment was crammed full of trampers eager to meet other trampers. We ran out of plates, so I had to eat my taco off the lid of a pot. Someone tried to convince me to get a job at Crab Shack. As I was washing my lid, maybe it was about 9.30, Amon sidled up to me. He asked me, “Do you want to go for a swim in Oriental Bay? Most of the people in this room are going.”

“I didn’t bring my togs,” I said. “None of us did.”

When I brought up my concerns about the cold, he said, “I’m prepared. I’ve got my long johns.”

I was convinced. It felt liberating to go, screw it, I know it’s not normal but we’re gonna go swimming in the cold and rain. A group of us set off towards Oriental Bay, chatting excitedly, although there were a few deserters (not naming anyone) who peeled off and went home to warm beds. We booed them but maybe we were jealous of their sensible life choices. I walked beside Tuscany, and I’d like to think we gave each other strength. Having weaved through town, we arrived at Oriental Bay. The water was a black-ish blue in which we could see reflected the bright lights of the city. The wind was calm. A sense of excitement hung in the air.

At the start of first trimester, a group of freshers and not-so-freshers took a stroll to Totara Flats Hut along the Waiohine Gorge. Overloaded cars, river swims, mafia, nachos, group stretches, throwing rocks at trees - it ticked all the boxes of a classic Tramp™.

Totara Flats Hut

Freshers overnighter.

My StateMentalClimbing Earnslaw

By Meike Pummer

mountaineering bug

Finding Turere Falls

Party Members: Nick, Amon, Meike (Author), Colan, Mariano, Lauren, & Nathan

At the beginning of the year Colan (one of our huts officers) had the great idea of making it his year’s mish to find the best waterfalls/swimming holes. I’m not too sure where the progress is on that mission is but that’s alright because we did get this epic trip out of it! Will have to revive this mission once summer returns. Said waterfall is pictured above with a classic but failed attempt at the VUWTC logo and face masks below.

Hawkins Hill

I managed to trick 13 people into helping walk the dog I was getting paid to look after. She’s insanely cute though, so I don’t think anyone was too phased. Hawkins Hill is (in my option, but also objectively true) one of the best views in Wellington - you can see all the way from Petone to the Southern Landfill! Speaking of dumps, Bella did a lot of those & I actually ran out of poo-bags (sorry sorry sorry), but like I said, the cuteness is a massive contributing factor to forgiveness. The walk itself is pretty simple, mainly along a paved road which makes it super accessible to new hikers (which we had a few of). After passing the radar dome (giant soccer ball), one group headed down to Red Rocks to find some seals, while the other group returned along the initial path. 10/10 trip, everyone loves Bella.

Eazy, Breezy Hot Pools.

Zita Keller

We met in the Hunter car park at 5pm on Friday night. Some of us needed to borrow tents - all good. We knew the gear shed code. But... a gear shed key? Shit. Quick (read: slow) drive to Newtown in peak hour traffic to get Kathleen's key from her letterbox, which she put there 20 minutes before leaving for the weekend. When I got back with the key, tents were distributed, cars were filled with copious amounts of food and we set off at about 6:30pm. Accommodation for the night was Woodville Ferry Freedom Camping, a really lovely big grassy area with toilets(!) and a barbecue. We made good use of the barbecue the next morning when we made pancakes and bacon with chocolate sauce, blueberries, bananas and maple syrup. We set off at 9:30am to drive to the Kaweka hot pools, hoping to meet Patrick, Alex and Paul there, who drove from Palmerston North. The last bit was a gravel/dirt road, windy and steep in places - a challenge for some of us, but we made it. The warden said the Palmerston North crew camped

near the car park last night and then headed off - we assumed they went for a day walk and that we'd see them in the evening (there's a hut 2-3 hours away and another set of hot pools about 45 minutes beyond that). Some of our group did a bit of walking too, some jumped in the hot pools and got a tad smashed, but we all had a good time and then regrouped for dinner... except for one, who decided to run all the way to the other hot pools and back. He was pretty quick (approx. 4 hour round trip) and was back in time for dinner. Then it was back in the hot pools (or card games for some). The stars were beautiful. A mist came up about midnight and we headed to bed. The whole time we were wondering what happened to the Palmerston North crew... later, we found out that they thought we were going to the OTHER hot pools, the ones that are 3-4 hours away - they were there, expecting us to turn up. Oops. We had a fair bit of their food too... All in all, it looks like we had a fair bit of miscommunication. Thankfully everyone was ok. Lessons learned are to make it very explicitly clear what the plan is - including WHICH hot pools!

Hot pools: 10/10

Communication: 4/10

The Pinnacles.

Lightning, rain, wind and the mere lack of sunlight set the scene in the week coming before our scheduled journey to take in the natural splendor that was Wellington’s South coast. As the weekend crept closer and closer I wouldn’t have blamed metservice for believing it was experiencing a DOS attack do to the sheer volume of traffic it received from me. But come Saturday the fortunes that the little meteorologist person hiding behind the web-page was speaking came true. Clear skies, calm weather and all on a long weekend!

We raced out over the Remutaka Ranges and past lake Ferry with Ngawi in our sights. Stopping for lunch at the Sailors table ~ a food truck seemingly only open on long weekends, but with burgers better than some Wellly cafes. As we filled our stomachs we said goodbye to the last bit of cell reception and continued onwards for a grand total of about 5 minutes (10 for those who got lost) to the Mangatoetoe stream with the intentions of leisurely strolling up to Mangatoetoe Hutt. Now once upon a time you could get a 4wd to this humble abode, but you’d be forgiven for believing in fairytales. Forced to track livestock we traversed the valley, jumping from animal track to

trappers track, bush bashing to straight up walking with the stream. Spotting a grand total of about 1 orange marker we stumbled upon the hut, with more time spent finding a suitable track through the bush than actually walking (It took like an hour or two give or take, I have deadass seen a man shepherd his child while carrying another on his back to this hut).

The weather remained blissfully clear and with nightfall the clear skies allowed for a very, very cold night. 7 people breathing allowed for adequate rainfall from the roof, which was a pleasant surprise for those that happened to be sleeping underneath the danger zones (condensation yaya). As is with most track finding expeditions it was significantly easier coming back out, only bashing our way a handful of times and heavily relying on the stray cows for Directions. We made it back to the road end in no time where we parted ways briefly, some going to check out the potentially famous lighthouse depending on who you ask and others heading straight for the sailors table for another burg.

And then, the literal part of the trip that was advertised, The Pinnacles! After our expeditions we met up with our chief guide and another friend to set up camp at the pinnacles campsite, flat grass and plenty of room to camp and part, it’s pretty much ideal. There’s a couple of toilets but the only water source came from the hand basins in said toilets so be prepared! After home base was set up, we journeyed briefly up the river bed to check these bad boys out. And what a solemn experience, we walked right up, getting all in and around the cracks that these monoliths created while protruding so far up. Could one collapse randomly and kill you? Yes. But what is the New

Pinnacles.

Zealand government going to do until it actually happens? Nothing, and we took full advantage of that raw experience, just sitting inside the earth, what a humble feeling. In this part of the world the sun sets behind the Remutaka Range, with a soft stony beach in between. We capitalized on the fact that the campsite was just over the road to check out this phenomenon that never gets old and took in our last sunset of the trip. The end, thank you for reading.

Written by: Daniel Hunsche

Photographer: Oliver Shearer.

BY NEVE HOPMAN

ACCIDENTAL CRIMINALS

ON POUAKAI CIRCUIT

This trip started off with a run in with the law, an accidental shoplift of a Pak n Save salad by a member we will not name for legal reasons. We also stopped for lunches and snacks and found an op shop to faff through. That night we wondered why we were left walking in the dark for two hours, but Jackson decided it was because of daylight savings, not our dawdling.

Day two was hardcore, a whole 2 hours stroll. Knowing this we slept in and swam nature’s best in the waterfall. This gave us perhaps the most beautiful photos of the trip (which we will not include also for legal reasons).

Day three was filled with sunrises and massive desires to shit. Scenically glorious, digestively questionable. But of course, as every good tramp should, we gathered in civilization for kebabs at the end.

We didn’t find Rupae Falls because we slept in.

I seem to have an attraction to full moons. A disproportionate amount of my trips happen to fall on one – and without prior planning. An unconscious connection perhaps. Lunar ESP. This was another.

The original plan was to camp at the flats near Ruapae Falls and have a swim, before heading up and over Herepai the next day. The promise of a full moon and clear skies, however, had us loony and we decided instead to make a line directly for Herepai. We’d held vague hopes of camping on the tops, even looked at a map for something flat. A good amount of faff put an end to that, however.

After briefly stopping to take in a moonlit view over the valley below, clouds wafting like glowing spectres below, we spotted a tent in the bush. Meike exclaimed “it’s a tent!” We rolled into Herepai Hut at somewhere around 22:00, 6 kebabs deep. Rounding the corner we found a hunting party setting up camp on the porch. They immediately put their fingers to their lips proclaiming “ssshhh”. There was fear in their eyes.

Why was Herepai so full? It's not exactly lux and it’s a random frikken Friday. No bother, we found a freshly chopped helipad, about as flat as Wellington. With space for a few bodies we set up our tents in great spirits, laughing hysterics at Isaac’s cheapo mattress with its very own integrated squishy balloon pump and pillow. The peak of technology. It’s all downhill from here.

“SHUT UPPPP!!!”

Little did we know Meike’s astute observation had woken a dragon. What had left four sizable hunters quivering had just emerged. Sheepishly we cowered from the fire emerging from

the dark. It expressed great disdain at the fact that we’d so rudely awake a group of hut maintenance workers. One of us let “get some earplugs” slip. This didn’t go down well. Nevertheless, we quietened down, stifling our giggles and made our way to bed. Meike got the prime spot in the middle.

We crawled out our tents the next morning to the sound of hammers and saws and the sunrise. It was easy going up to East Peak. Of course we’d carried a watermelon to eat as the animals do – bashed open on a rock and smeared on our faces . There ain’t no cutlery in the bush.

The next bit was the crux – scouring trip reports we knew that we needed to follow the streambed down to the old biv site between pts 1332 and 1127 if we were to avoid the leatherwood limbo. From here there should be tracks leading up and over pt. 1127 to follow the south westerly ridge down to hidden lake. Sounds simple until you're staring down a mass of leatherwood and the tracks you’re looking for turn out to be tunnels. After poking around and overshooting the entrance to the stream bed we finally made it to what seemed like a biv site, and sat down for lunch. I shot off trying to find a way out, but nothing was obvious. Eventually we opted for a bush bash straight up the side of the hill.

Bush bashing through leatherwood is a special kind of fun. While I enjoy the alpine and cliff faces, Tommy and Dugal seem to like to battle with gnarled life-forms hell-bent on standing in one’s way. The fact that both are well-over six foot makes this all the more challenging. Well, at least I know I can go where they go.

Finally the bush opened up. Relief, we could see our feet. Chris remarked that he couldn’t see his

Colan Balkwill and Meike Pummer

phone though. He’d lost it in the leatherwood. Yeah nah I’m not going back. We hung about while he retraced his steps for a bit. Nothing. Poor fellow. After a bit of faffing to make sure we followed the correct spur and a descent of the upper end of a few hundred metres we hit flat ground and sauntered into the hidden lake.

Did I say lake? Perhaps marsh is a better description, I’d sunk up to my calves within three metres of the shoreline. The mud put Chris and Dugal off.

-Colan.

The lake was everything I had been hoping for; beautiful brown waters, cheesecake textured mud to sink your toes into, and the beautiful still bush that hung around us. Shoes came off and we waded through the reeds. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tommy swimming out to the little island, and that was all the boys needed to dive into the lake. Me, usually the local fish of the tramping club, was not sure about freeing my tits to the world (I am a free spirit but also minorly conscious about shoving my overly naked self into people’s

lives where it’s not wanted). The boys confirmed they didn’t care, the tits were free, mud was slathered over everybody, eels were felt brushing our legs, the world was a great place once again. Although we were in fact in a lake, getting the mud off ourselves was surprisingly difficult. Once we made it to the river a fire was lit and us dirty folk got into the river to clean ourselves off. A liberating experience, the water taking your breath away the minute you get in, but it’s all about remaining calm.

-Meike.

I watched Meike laying in the same water that had caused everyone else to scream a pitch that’d have them inducted without question into the soprano section of a choir. I was fearful for her safety. I waded in. She told me to breathe. Meditation never came so easy.

The rest of the evening was spent around the fire, eating black pepper tofu and watching Chris drink Raro and vodka.

I swear Isaac didn’t leave the tent until 10:00am. Neither did Meike. Heads out and legs in, staring up at the beachy canopy (“the best cuddle session of my life” – Meike). Dugal was propped up against a tree as if he needed medical attention. Sophie and Chris sat on a log. Tommy was off starting a fire. Breakfast was prepared, we packed up and sauntered to Roaring Stag, had a swim, hugged some big old trees and finally headed back to the carpark.

P.S. Wouldn’t recommend the kebab shop in Greytown and Chris is a lucky bastard. A couple weeks later some bloke hit us up and he got his phone back.

-Colan.

KathleenGriffin

& Kate Morris

Fuelled by the finest cuisine that Bulls has to offer, thirty-odd trampers made the midnight pilgrimage from the Whakapapa carpark to the Tararua Tramping Club lodge in the pouring rain. We had some new members with us, and not everyone was fully acquainted so we played a few group ice breakers in the lounge before we decided we should probably get some sleep.

The next morning we split into groups and wandered up the mountain hoping to learn some new Alpine skills. Luckily the snow gods had been kind & released a massive dumping of the good white stuff earlier in the week, so we had a lush playground to explore. Very uncharacteristically for Mt Ruapehu, the snow was actually incredibly soft so we didn’t really need crampons for most of the adventures. We did find some nice icy areas to climb around on, and of course every new alpinist needs to experience the struggle of putting of crampons with cold fingers. We climbed up along the ridge behind the lodge to Amphitheatre for the suitable slopes to practice self-arresting. At first us newbies were a bit nervous, gingerly sitting down and sliding a couple of inches before driving our axes into the snow. Confidence was quickly gained and soon enough we were gleefully throwing ourselves down the slope like lemmings off a cliff (I know the lemming thing isn’t actually true, but just picture it).

By the time we stopped for lunch at the NZAC hut the low cloud had lifted and we were treated to gorgeous views. The afternoon was spent wandering around, picking up bits of wisdom from our leaders, and most importantly taking some killer Insta shots. One group got out the ice climbing equipment for a play, & the lazier of us headed to the Pātaka cafe to enjoy a warm feed. Unfortunately the volcano was throwing a hissy fit so we weren’t allowed within 2km of the crater lake, but we agreed to return later in the year for a mission to the summit plateau.

The evening held what evenings at TTC always hold – good food and poor mulled wine, good attempts at the paper game and poor attempts at a five layer human pyramid. Here’s to many more like it.

Kapakapanui.

We set off for Kapakapanui on a stunningly sunny day in the middle of winter (thanks to Daisy for driving!) with the goal of heading up to Kapakapanui hut, plus a quick trip up to the tops for some views.

This track involves a ton of river crossings (about 9) at the very start, so expect either wet boots right off the bat, or bring along an extra pair to swap out.

As anyone who's climbed up to Kapakapanui will know, the start is a real steep slog – straight up the mountain with no mucking around!

It took us about 3.5 hours to climb up to the hut, where we quickly claimed beds and had a good rest. The car park was packed to the brim, so getting a bunk in the hut was actually a surprise! Turns out most of those cars were just doing the loop in a day thanks to the excellent weather.

We ended up with 9 people packed into that hut (3 on the ground, 6 in bunks) which made for a great lively atmosphere and a warmer night's sleep than what I'm used to in my flat in Welly!

After some warm tea and snacks at the hut we continued on to have a look at the open tops of Kapakapanui and the stunning goblin forest the ridge is famous for. We certainly got our fair share of beautiful mossy forest, but the cloud was starting to set in while we were on the tops. It made for some pretty interesting views though, with the cloud changing constantly and the sunset shining through.

The clouds made for some pretty atmospheric scenes once we dropped below the bush line again, it would be a pretty freaky experience to get lost in this kind of forest!

On our way back down the sunset got more and more vibrant as we dropped below the clouds, and the golden light made for some stunning scenes in the mossy goblin forest. It made for quite a magical experience, walking through the otherworldly trees with the colours of a classic high-altitude sunset lighting up the moss.

Gotta love the Tararuas!

sunsetsmistyand a warmtoastyhut

As we neared the hut, we got one last view of Kapiti island through the trees before the sun fully set. Our whole trip to the top (to the trig) and back took about 2.5hrs. We arrived back in the hut to a pre-lit fire, thanks to the other hut members, and a warm cosy evening after a great day of tramping. I brought along a frozen home-made chickpea curry which I cooked up alongside some instant-rice, which sorted us all out for dinner.

Lots of stories were shared about hidden corners of the Tararuas, and scary climbs up Mt Taranaki. Plus lots of must-do tramping recommendations around the country. Thanks to the cosy fire and such a busy hut, we had a very warm night and even a warm morning (which was a very pleasant surprise)!

We headed off back down the way we came, opting for the shorter option instead of heading up and over the tops again to complete the full loop. It was still quite cloudy, so there wouldn't have been any views on the tops anyway.

On our way down we passed the famous give-way road sign of Kapakapanui, which we almost thought had been removed since we missed it on the way up. One plus-side to the cloudy weather is the beautiful god-rays shining through the forest!

After about 3.5hrs (same as on the way up!) we made it back to the car. Feeling thoroughly refreshed and invigorated by a weekend spent in the bush. On the way home we made sure to grab some pies & coffee in Johnsonville to get our energy back in check, then relaxed for the rest of the afternoon after a weekend well spent!

This was my first time hosting a trip with the VUWTC, and it was a ton of fun. We formed a great little tramping group and are all keen for some more trips into the bush in the future!

Jack Huygens

By Colan Balkwill

September 9th 2022

Colan pulls a package out of his pack, should probably shut up about what’s inside.

June 22nd, 2022 07:30am

Colan leaves home to catch the 8am ferry. Realises he’s left his and Jim’s gaiters at home, has a minor panic but luckily the ferry leaves late and his flatmate gets there in time. The stage was set for the rest of the trip; mishaps, faff, and everything kinda working out in the end. A ramshackle sardine-packed action adventure in which we sang only the choruses of countless hits - the tone of which is hopefully captured in the maniacal and staccato delivery of the following text.

After June 22nd 07:30am

Got to Blenheim Pak’nSave bought far too much food, ate pumpkin curry that looked like it should’ve rather inhabited the nearest infant’s nappy, the accompanying wraps fell apart and started dripping which only furthered the metaphor (I spent ****ing hours cooking it goddamn lying ass recipe lucky it was dark so folks fed). Watched a sick sunset pulled some poses, packed our bags so we wouldn’t have to do it in the morning and went to bed. Yeah don’t camp next to the sea if you don’t want to get soaked as and don’t leave at 7am from an east facing beach if you don’t want to stay soaked as. Packed our bags again because why not (Siru’s came in at a featherweight 24kg), actually left at 7:30 and drove an exciting couple hours to the trail head. Isaac’s recommended sex podcast failed to pitch a tent in our minds so we listened to some music, pulled over when we saw Tapi and danced on the side of the highway for the oncoming traffic. Got to the trail head, packed our bags again for the hattrick and left an hour later than planned. Thank dear god the farmer arrived and gave us a lift in the back of her ute 2k up the road otherwise we’d have arrived in the pitch black at two ice boxes after the ~80 river crossings and trekking through slush. Did I even have feet anymore? If the world is solely a product of our sensory experience then nah, I did not. Ate some food, can’t remember what and agreed we’d leave the hut by 6 or something the next day. I lie, it was my birthday and we ate a cupcake so that was a sweet memory I will cherish until my sensory experience renders memory senseless. We didn’t leave the hut by 6 because it was miserable as, snow was terrible, hadn’t had time to pack down and so was super slow travel and super deep. Didn’t make it to the summit because we left a little too late considering the snow conditions, travel was slow, missed the turn off to the river, had to stop to take a s**t because my bowels don’t understand the concept of an alpine start, clouds came down and we figured it made sense to turn around and try another time. Maybe 500 meters from summit. Jim ate an apple, we glissaded half the way back, christened a knoll mullet hill and gave Amon and Meike the beginnings of a very mullety mullets with a tiny pair of scissors while Isaac let one loose off a rock and swears it was the best poop of his life. Arrived back at the chilly bins around 2, had lunch at the picnic table and talked smack, played cards, slid down

some snow, ate (drank?) miso soup and spaghetti which congealed together into crispy pasta churros that were nothing even close to churros apart from the shape. Woke up the next morning with Amon and Siru sporting fresh new respiratory infections and realised a vital piece of equipment was no longer in my bag. Where tf were my car keys? Searched for an hour and yeah figured they must’ve got sick of following our faff and glissaded off down one of the slopes the day before on their own. ****. Do we go look for them? The weather looks iffy, we don’t have a ton of food. Nah, teach me a lesson and leave em there (thanks for the pep talk Meike – yeah none of us wants to end up in a Stuff article). Leave at 8:30, Amon and I run ahead because Amon has 21 year old legs and this is my g’damn fault, we’re another 80 river crossings and 20km down by 2, jump in Siru’s car and drive to the Camden Cookshop for a phone. Hang out there trying to get my spare keys on a boat, plane, mother****ing pigeon for two hours before jumping back in with a length of wire to go fetch the rest. Break into my car with said wire after 45 minutes of pure flow-state level dedication get our beans and cook up some mean nachos back at the Cookshop. Anyway so Isaac finally convinces his cousin to pawn off my spare keys on some stranger on the next flight to Blenheim but it means we’ve got to get out at 6am. Amon decides it’ll be fun for four of us to sleep in the same bed, wake up at 5:30 neck some coffee jump in the car and spend the next TWO HOURS pushing it up and down the driveway because the battery has about as much will to live as I do after leaving bed well before the crack of dawn 5 days in a row. Two minutes from the Blenheim airport we get a call telling us to come pick up the keys thank goodness oh wait no in WELLINGTON yeah the stranger thought we were peddling a single hits worth of molly in the remote and chucked it at the police. The suns out. It’s a beautiful day. Isaac and I spend it in good ol’ Blenny parking lots eating Z-sausage rolls yeeha mate and finally find out Sounds Air will deliver parcels airport-to-airport for 30 bucks. Return to the crew who’d spent a lovely day petting a horse and walking a dog they’d named faff with kebabs as a peace offering, drive out of that god forsaken valley and camp out at Rarangi (totes worth a visit).

Great scoping mission though would like to see you on the next trip:)

Check out Meike’s beta on the website for actual useful information.

Midwinter in the Kaikoura Ranges (the seaward version)

After the Tapi debacle we needed some rest and relaxation; a trip that would give us good views but with less stress and way more chill than we had felt over the last 5 days. After a night at Rarangi campsite with perfect clear sky weather and some decent food we all felt slightly more mentally capable of making decisions about what we were going to be doing for the next 5 days before our ferry back to Welly. This somewhat simple decision turned out to be harder than expected; somewhere too far from civilization after the last experience was not allowed (the cars were not longer trusted), some people wanted to hug trees in river valleys, some people wanted the glorious mountain tops and the summits, some of us didn’t give a fuck we just wanted to go tramping. We had decided that we would head into some hut in the Wairau valley but I opened my big mouth again and suggested a loop in the seaward Kaikōura Ranges - I love trees and will be a tree hugger for life but we had just spent four days in a gorge and on a mountain in full cloud with no views and I needed VIEWS. Discussions started up again… but finally the decision was made and we headed to the hills.

The drive towards Kaikōura is one of the most stunning stretches of coastline; as you round the corner into the bay the snow capped mountains rise out from behind the rolling grasslands and if you weren’t feeling excited about climbing 2000 metres in elevation before, you are now.

Anyway, onto the trip…

We’d finally made a decision, we’d rolled into Kaikōura by early afternoon, food and port ready (Isaac and Colan had made themselves useful for once while waiting for the keys in Blenheim), now all we had to do was faff around in the carpark for an hour. We pushed up to Fyffe hut in something like an hour 30 admiring the snow capped peaks around us and loading our shoulders with wood as we went. The evening was clear, we melted snow on the fireplace and ate tacos (avo, capsicum, spiced rice and beans) while our poor hut mates looked despondent with their dehy. Early to bed after a game of cards. The weather the next morning was absolutely perfect (for a hut day). Sleet turned to snow and back to sleet (it was the first time Colan had seen a proper dump and he was salivating). Mt. Fyffe hut is as basic as can be, so we had nothing to do but enjoy the company of our crew and play Wordle on a piece of newspaper. At some point we went for a damp walk, collected wood and made more tea before ‘fixing’ Amon and I’s mountain mops. Colan read us a story and we went to sleep.

The next day we woke up above a sea of clouds over the sea. Kaikoura’s lights flickered in and out of its candy floss blanket. The air was clear, we packed up and headed across the snowbound ridgelines, a winter wonderland. We still didn’t need our crampons - so far they had been carried for 6 days with no use other than weight training. 1602m above sea level, with the glistening ocean on one side and snow-capped mountains on the other, I was in pure viewing heaven. The view from Mt Fyffe summit (nicknamed Mt Faff in loving memory of the minutes and hours lost on this mid winter trip due to faffing) was absolutely stunning. I’m going to use pictures to describe the following 2 hours across the tops because my descriptions will never be able to do it justice.

The descent was fucked.

Immaculate combination of scree running and snow sliding got us below the snowline but as soon as we made it into the valley everything turned to shit. As a place that got little to no direct sunlight in winter the creek bed was icy and dangerous. The next 2 km took 2 hours, if that says anything about the dire track situation and the state that we were in. Tired legs and minds and icy rocks that looked like dry rocks lead to everyone falling over all the time and a great celebration was in order by the time we made it to the hut.

Here is a picture of my

Everyone settled into the new hut, happy to be out of the creek and with dry feet. Some time after dark 3 people showed up without sleeping mats or tents to the 6 person hut that we had occupied with our 6 people. One of them was wearing docs, they were cool. Siru decided she would live her best life and sleep outside in the woodshed which she modified as a sleepout - honestly it looked like a great set up. She swears by it today so next time there’s a hut full of snorers I think I’ll give it a go.

By the time we walked out the next day I think everyone was keen to be out of this cold damp valley. We ended up missing the turnoff to the carpark and had to walk what was about 500m but felt like 3km back up the road. Putting on dry clothes and socks after that day felt like the best post tramp experience.

An evening on the beach at Kaikōura with a beer really created a beautiful ending to a beautiful trip, with everyone silently reflecting on their own experience of the last 9 days. We picked out a campsite at Kaikōura, did some swing dancing, cooked up a feast, ran down the beach with music blasting, went for a nudie swim, some calming yoga, and all clambered into bed for the best sleep we’d had in a long time.

But not really… because at around 11pm the offshore wind started up and blew Siru and Amon out of their tents. Amon migrated to the kitchen, but Siru sat in her tent holding it up to stop it from becoming a pancake for about 2 hours while I slept peacefully in the tent next door.

A truly eventful mid winter experience, they always seem to end up that way. See our Tapi adventure for the first half of the crazy holiday. All in all, an EPIC group of people with EPIC views and some EPIC problem solving skills along with a LOT of faffing ended up as a super amazing trip. The best part about tramping in my opinion: getting to know everyone at the absolute worst and absolute best all at the same time - all adds up to lifelong friendships.

By Meike Pummer

Day 0.5/Day 1: Wellington > Cannibal Gorge Hut

2AM ferries: great for freight and trampers, awful in every other aspect. I passed the time by staring into space, picking at a supermarket pizza bread, losing at ultimate tic tac toe, and attempting to nap. After a long drive south and a mediocre sandwich at the only shop in Springs Junction, it was go time. It felt marvelous to be back in the bush after weeks of tests and essays - smelling the moss and the beech trees, hearing rushing water in the distance, no thoughts but putting one foot in front of the other. A South Island Robin came to greet us, bravely hopping within reach to nab some Oaty Slice. The weather turned for the worse near dusk, and we all arrived at the hut sodden, exhausted, and slightly delirious. Tramping is fun!!!

Day 2: Cannibal Gorge Hut > Christopher Hut

After a good sleep, spirits on the second day were much higher. It was a lovely day of bright blue skies and grassy plains, apart from a small section where I accidentally introduced the newer trampers to the art of bush-bashing and the wonders of matagouri when we missed a detour over a slip. Teachable moment: always check for the orange triangles. That night there was an older couple already at the hut when the ten of us unceremoniously stomped in. They very graciously agreed to sleep in the separate hut warden’s quarters. Crisis averted? Apparently not. At around 8pm, we were having a merry time chatting and playing cards when we heard an almighty hammering on the adjoining wall - the universal signal for ‘shut the hell up’. We did our best to be quiet after that, we really did - but everything is way funnier when you’re not allowed to laugh.

ByKateMorris

Day 3: Christopher Hut > Anne Hut

Another day of unbelievable scenery and semi-successful parkour over bogs and streams. On the final approach to the hut, we were treated to a very cool sight; a large herd of wild horses. Davy, walking in front of them, flung his arms out like he was in the Sound Of Music. It was truly magical. While cooking up pasta-based dishes numbers 5 and 6 that evening, we took advantage of the extensive floor space to have a dance circle around a pot on the floor (think cult ritual, but ABBA). The rest of the night was spent playing some lively rounds of Mafia. Certain members of our party started a smear campaign against yours truly, but it actually worked to my advantage because when I was the mafia they would all joke about lynching me but then never actually follow through. Teachable moment: gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Day 4: Anne Hut > Boyle

Flats Hut Day four saw us tramping over grassy plains and through goblin forests over the 1136-meter Anne Saddle. This was our longest day, and it was a bit of a slog. The first time you put false hope on a solid looking patch of tussock and sink calf-deep into a bog, it’s a bit funny. The other fifty times, less so. It was a welcome reminder that we were guests in the backcountry - the horses didn’t seem to mind getting their feet a bit wet. For the last few kilometers I was hobbling, feet aching, head down. After finally making it to the hut, I collapsed in the window seat and fed myself chocolate until I felt like a human again.

Day 5: Boyle Flats Hut > Hanmer/ Wellington

A wise man (i.e. our sustainability officer Xanthe Smith) once told me to ‘be bold, start cold’. As a devout follower of Xanthe, I follow her advice unquestioningly - but this particular morning the single-layerstart may have been a mistake. There was a hard frost on the ground, and on Chris’ shirt which he had washed and then left outside overnight. Despite some energetic walking, my fingers and toes and face were numb for the better part of the morning. Eventually though, the sun made it over the hills and I thawed out. It was a lovely day of walking, sidling through native forest beside a river. On the way back, Jess and I got dropped off in Hanmer Springs to meet up with my family. They weren’t due to arrive until later, so we spread ourselves out on a public bench in the center of town and fixed ourselves some tuna wraps. What a life.

Many thanks to Jackson for herding a bunch of newbies and faffers through the hills, and even many-er thanks to the rest of the St James crew for being excellent company.

Kaikoura Midwinter Expedition Day Walk Teresa, Xanthe, Chris, Lily, Rowan, Lottie, Kate Fyffe-Hapuka-Kowhai Circuit Mt Fyffe Summit

Route description: Really epic trek up the mighty Waimakariri to Barker Hut from where we totally summited Mt Murchison via Kahautea Col, wink-wink, then retreated most contentedly down to Waimakariri Falls Hut to recharge for a cheeky summit of Mt Rolleston, out over Rome Ridge, and descending majestically into Arthurs Pass. 11/10 super epic, would do it again, definitely worth doing a second time because it

Above: The Mighty Waimakariri

Photo: Xanthe Smith

Right: Eyeing up the Summit of Mt Murchison. Photo: Nicholas Jones

Below: The Creation of Helena ft. Mt Rolleston & God. Photo: Nicholas Jones

MidWinter Adjacent. July

TLDR: Even though we got covid we braved the perils of Heaven, the North Atlantic Ocean and Mt Everest. Not pictured: Mariano and Hamish, soz guys xx

Helena Mclachlan, Xanthe Smith, Nicholas Jones, Mariano McClean, Hamish Edwards

Mt Climie Impromptu Walkies

Wellington Weeknight Walkies

Ticking Boxes in the Tararua Ranges

It was after the meeting on Tuesday that we collectively noticed the forecast for the weekend. “It’s a full moon this weekend, want to go for a mish in the Tararuas?”, said Dugal. “And there’s going to be loads of snow”, I said. “And the weather is fine”, we both agreed. So it was born. Due to other commitments, we had 28 hours to tick as many boxes as possible. Dugal suggested Bannister, I pointed out that Tararua Footprints recommends a rope in the daytime when there’s no snow. Somehow, that didn’t completely discourage him. After a lot of excited scrolling of Topo Maps, by Friday we settled on a loop that included the notorious Neil-Winchcombe and most of the Southern Crossing in a single day. At Alpha, we would meet with Jack and Vic, who were going there and back by the direct route. And Emma wanted to come with us, despite having no experience with Crampons or the Tararuas.

As Dugal’s car powered through the Wairarapa plains, we could catch glimpses of white through the hills. It didn’t look that impressive, a light dusting on top of green/brown tussock. Then I saw them, the actual tops gleamed a blinding white. The “light dusting” was the trees!

We set off from Walls Whare at 10:30, leaving Jack and Vic behind. We made short work of the steep climb to Cone saddle and the steep climb from there to Cone. As the temperate forest transitioned to goblin forest, it started to snow.

“That’s strange”, we agreed, “the forecast was fine.” “Hang on, it’s coming from the trees!”

The sun was hitting the leaves for the first time that day, which melted the snow and it unstuck from the leaves, and it fell on-top of us. Sometimes a big, hard icicle would hit your head hard. As we climbed

higher, the snow kept falling. It coated the leaves and the ferns, while icicles hung from the moss. We had been transported into Narnia.

We emerged onto Cone and could finally take in the entire, magnificent view. Every peak was pure white. The dark side of every ridge was speckled white. A snow chute plunged on Maungahuka down to well below the treeline. The small bumps of the Tararua Ranges had become the Southern Alps.

The Neil Winchombe track started with leatherwood, which on its own is every Tararua trampers’ worst nightmare, but it’s much worse when the leaves are piled in snow. Every part of your body is covered as you struggle through it, or worse, underneath it, where the snow falls down your back. The rough, steep, snowy track down Neil Saddle was treacherous, every surface you dared step on could send you tumbling. The climb up the other side was even snowier than the last climb, then we emerged onto Neil, which pokes briefly above the bushline. The leaves on the tussock were coated in a tube of rime ice, which looked like meerkats dancing on the barren gravel. Then we dropped down into the bush. The terrain got steeper, there were sections of rock climbing. The bush got scrubbier and we grew weary of struggling through yet more snow coated leatherwood. The sky grew darker. Eventually we arrived at Winchcombe Biv, which is placed in a nice hollow on the bushline, 50m off the ridge on the south side.

The Biv is a replica of the “2 person” Forest Service dogbox that was built in 1967, built by exNZFS culler Paul Gush and flown to the site in April 2021. For better or worse, it looks exactly like the originals. I failed to start a fire in the stone fireplace and we cooked dinner. It felt like the end of a long, hard day of tramping, but we were only halfway through.

By Tommy Thomson

The last light was fading as we set off up towards Winchcombe Peak. We had finally reached the snowy tops, although we couldn’t see them without a torch. A squashed, orange cheese ball appeared on the horizon, the full moon was rising as promised, although it didn’t provide much light. Progress was much slower in the snow, my boots sank in at every step down to the tussock below. The ridge narrowed as we approached 1398 and a giant rocky pinnacle loomed out of the darkness. It looked impossible to traverse, we had no ropes, very little mountaineering experience and we couldn’t see. We couldn’t go around it either, the ridge dropped precipitously on either side. However, from up close it didn’t look so bad. There was enough tussock to carefully pick our way to the top, then balance along the knife edge on the other side. I tried not to think about what would happen if someone fell. The snow alternated between ice and powder, you never really knew whether it was going to support you or not. At times I felt like giving up, but the incredible moonlit mountains were a good motivator.

At one point, a light appeared on the skyline, near Mount Hector. We debated what it was, surely nobody else was crazy enough to be up here at this time of night.

As we climbed, the snow grew thick enough to don crampons, which made the ice a lot easier. Then the ridge flattened and the snow became hard enough to walk on. The snow was bright white under the full moon, bright enough to see easily without a torch. It felt surreal, like we were floating on white mountain clouds while the rest of the world was laid out in lights far beneath us. The ghostly white shape of a cross appeared against the black sky, like a sign from God. But it was, if possible, an even better sign. The top of Mount Hector.

The wooden Hector Cross towered above us, 2.5m high with half a metre of rime ice on one side. Every house, streetlight and town in the lower North Island was visible as a point of light in the inky blackness. The rest of our route gleamed in-front of us, beautiful, but exhausting. The mysterious lights were climbing towards Atkinson, it was another group. Feeling delirious by this point, we played cricket with snowballs and the cross as the wicket. Nobody won, although Patrick got covered in the most snow.

The Southern Crossing was an exercise in patience. We all felt physically fine, but mentally exhausted. The route was clear and there were no major challenges, but every step was a gamble on whether you would fall to your knees through the thin layer of snow. As soon as you felt frustrated, you started stomping and would fall on every step. This went on for hours. We traversed Beehives, Atkinson, then dropped into the dress circle. We had been walking for more than 12 hours at this point. Dugal was thirsty and sleepy since he would normally be in bed at this time of night, I was hungry and grateful for my university fuelled insomnia, Patrick was sore and tired, and Emma somehow just kept going.

After we stopped at a tarn near 1372, the mood improved. The ridge flattened, the moon grew, if possible, even brighter, and the snow hardened since it was getting colder. We were gradually catching up with the other group and reached them after the hard grunt up Alpha. They left Field hut the day before and were staying at Alpha hut with us. Accelerated by the downhill and by hut fever, we reached the hut at about 1pm, 14.5 hours after we left the car park.

Dugal and Emma left early to get back to Wellington, the rest of us lazily strolled out. I don’t remember much of this day, I was thinking back to the previous night and wondering if it was all just a dream. We crossed Hells Gate, which was uneventful as promised. Bull Mound was lovely, you could see the whole route from the swampy meadows, although clouds were rolling in over Mt Hector. Then, in typical Tararua fashion, the spur dropped steeply into the Tauherenikau river to Cone Hut. The water tank at Cone Hut had been infected with maggots, or something equally horrible, so we filled up on river water. Shoutout to Jacinda Adern, Chris Luxon and The Jigsaw Burner for signing the hutbook! The climb up behind Cone Hut was further than I remembered, but from there it’s a straightforward drop back down to Walls Whare.

Next time the weather forecast is good, get out there and do something. Even if you’ve only got a day and a half you can accomplish a lot.

MIDWINTER CHRISTMAS

ORONGORONGO VALLEY JULY 2022

It was memorable. It started with multiple ideas of what outrageous things we could bring into the Orongorongo valley and I was set on bringing a wheelbarrow where we could carry Colan with his moonboot but unfortunately this event did not take place. Nic and I faffed about waiting for liquor shops in Wainui to open. They eventually did, to our relief. This relief was short lived. Nick broke the news that he forgot to bring my sleeping bag. But, I was not stressed sleeping outside in the middle of Winter as this was the perfect opportunity to snuggle with the team xx. After kicking a football up the track to the riverbed, a Greek-God-esque figure proceeded to carry Colan and his moonboot across the ferocious river tides. A great party was brewing. People slept inside on beds, on the floor, in tents and Helena in a hammock on the deck. This was not the time for sleeping however. Maybe one of the best and most primal games that I have ever partaken in took place. A circle of people taking turns hitting a piece of wood with an axe dubbed “Splitty splitty log”. Incredible fun. After one of the greatest photo shoots of all time including Mr & Mrs Claus and elves (Helena & Xanthe) people gathered inside for an amazing potluck to end all potlucks. An amazing spread of Welly’s finest home-made delicacies. Santa (aka Father Christmas if you didn't know) decided to make an appearance and handed out the secret santa presents. Some were good, some were not. The night carried on with drinking and dancing and a really long game that I don't know the name of (EN: Sardines). An outdoor fire was brewed as songs were sang through the cold night. Nick took some sick photos that looked like album covers which made for some questionable story lines of which named Henry was the victor. Five of us snuggled into a small tent on the deck of the Hut, thankfully as remember I was without sleeping bag. No one died of hypothermia which was good. In the morning some left as fast as possible, and others stayed to clean up the aftermath. Overall a very successful Christmas in the Orgongorongo valley. Sans snow but not sans laughter.

Merry Christmas from Mariano McClean (Santa (Father Christmas (Mr Claus ;) )))

The hut bagging spree that was not to be.

As a seasoned reader of Heels, by now you might be getting bored of the whole trip-plan-gone-wrong story. But it’s hardly a tramping trip if everything actually turns out as expected, is it? Proper prior planning predominantly produces pitifully plain pursuits anyway.

So if you can be arsed reading it, here’s another maybe slightly embellished tale of intrepid misadventure.

The route Hamish planned was over Holdsworth, on to Anderson Memorial (via Maungahuka), then Nichols hut, down into the Waiohine, up to McGregor Biv and back via Jumbo. What a hut bagging spree it was going to be. We looked at the forecast and given that it at least wasn’t dangerous to go out (Hamish: “She’ll be right.”), Hamish, Isaac and I sent it. The first day was actually pretty good, the three of us made it to Powell in about 2 ½ hours and continued uneventfully

up to Holdsworth. It was overcast, but nothing to complain about. We got to our intended destination, Mid-Wiohine Hut, without trouble at all. Though the track down there from Holdsworth truly is a Tararua Range knee-cruncher – incredibly steep and laden with roots.

Mid-Wiohine is a cute little six bunk hut, and it is orange. Not far from the river, the vibe is peaceful and the swimming opportunities are good. A standard dinner of canned beans was had, after which we played cards.

That night, it absolutely poured. The next morning, it was still raining, and the river was a solid brown. Hamish reckoned that the main range would be too windy to tackle, so instead it was a slog back up to Holdsworth (“yeah nah should be ok – I reckon”). About 200m from the bush line, the sound of the wind ripping through the treetops was an indication that

it was at least a ‘lil windy. With each step the protection of the bush grew less and less and at the bush line the noise all of a sudden materialised into a buffeting force.

The wind reached its peak once we got to Holdsworth, and despite being strong, it actually wasn’t unmanageable. We could stand upright without being blown over (always a plus), and only occasionally were we blown off balance. From Holdsworth, we headed for McGregor Biv, which meant a good few hours on the tops in the howling wind and drizzle. We had lunch at Jumbo Peak, taking shelter below the ridge-line. As Hamish had said it would be, it was ok. In fact, it was fantastic. The forces of nature are simply awesome.

Fitting three into McGregor Biv is the most you can do comfortably, so we had a good night, and awoke to another complete weather change, this time in our favour.

Dugal Thomson

The low mist burnt off as the morning went on, leaving us with a completely still bluebird day. We enjoyed taking in the glorious brokenaxe pinnacles and had a good snack on south king, taking in the view. Mid-king biv is just in sight, and we reckoned a club trip ought to go there soon. Sauntering down the ridge over Baldy, we had lunch at the bushline before heading on and out via the Atiwhakatu valley.

A great trip more making the best of whatever mother nature threw our way.

“Playgrounds should be a staple of tramping trips”

-Kevin de Lange

Despite a week of wet weather, we braved the outdoors for a little walk to the Birchville Dam via Cannon Point trig. We dressed up in our waterproofs but 2 minutes into the walk we decided that the light mist falling on us was not enough to justify all the sweating going inside the raincoats, so we stashed them in our backpacks. After another 2 minutes Chris was complaining that his raincoat was so wet it was making his bag drip down his legs. We all agreed that it was probably his drink bottle since, barely even a sprinkle of rain had fallen on us while wearing the raincoats. When he pulled the bottle out, the lid was completely open & only half the water remained. We suggested he stored it in his drink bottle pocket to keep it upright, since that is what it was designed for. He objected, saying it would fall out, but did it anyway.

By the time we made it to the trig we had a nice view to Wellington along the Hutt river. We wandered down to the dam for lunch, where Chris exclaimed that his drink bottle had indeed fallen out somewhere. There were a lot of signs saying the final bridge would be closed, but upon arrival it was definitely not. We leisurely walked back to the car via the streets of Lower Hutt, stopping for not-so-brief playground excursion. On the drive home Daniel only went round one roundabout the wrong way.

Blue Range Hut.

E A S

by Kate, and also Jessie (who wasn

t even on the trip)

Kime Attempted

A decent weather weekend was approaching, and neither Daniel or I had any plans. We decided a hike was definitely necessary, but where? Good weather in the Tararuas is rare so it was probably a good opportunity to get to the tops, however we were both feeling relatively lazy so a massive excursion wasn’t an option. We thought about a mish up Mitre Peak, but the weather wasn’t that good. We settled on a wander into Kime Hut because when we’d tried earlier in the year, some bad weather made us change plans. I put the trip on the website on Thursday night and Chris’ sign-up bot immediately put him on the list. Unfortunately he had to pike, but we still had one other joining us. A new member called Minh, here from Vietnam. I’d never met Minh

so I thought I’d check in to make sure he knew was he was in for. He assured me multiple times that he was indeed very experienced and was capable of climbing >1000m to Kime. It wasn’t until halfway up Field’s track, where Minh had been trailing behind that he informed me this was in fact his first ever overnight hike. After a brief telling-off we made the decision to stay at Field instead. We were walking too slow & wouldn’t make it to Kime before the sun set. Minh objected but I think his was grateful when he could barely climb the ladder in the hut. We made some new friends at Field, & absolutely destroyed them at Bananagrams that night. Daniel and I made plans to return to Kime in a few weekswhich then got canceled due to bad weather. Again.

Kime Conqured

Less than 24hrs before the trip, disaster strikes. Instant mashed potatoes are S O L D O U T everywhere. We had planned a shepherd’s pie feast & the spud shortage was destroying our dreams. We searched every store surrounding the city with no success, supermarket stockists spinning stories of shipping struggles. Kevin even exploded an entire bottle of oat milk on the New World lino out of sheer anger. After several hours of panic in the group chat, we finally resorted to the most embarrassing, yet reliable source of advice. Vic Deals. Apparently requesting information regarding the known location of potato flakes is very controversial. After filtering out the tasteless people mocking the fine cuisine of instant mash, we had a decent leadNiamey from Mt Cook offered an unopened bag for free! Approaching her doorstep, the house looked familiar & upon knocking on the door I realised I’d been here before - in a less-than-sober state. We awkwardly shared memories of a party held at her residence & she kindly donated not only instant mash, but also some carrot + kumara flakes as well. Crisis averted thanks to our spud seraph, we were finally all set for our hike.

Saturday morning the gear shed was roaring as outdoors enthusiasts congregated en masse to begin their weekend plans. We were mingling with the climbers heading out at the same time, & getting in the way of the kayak club loading up cars (as usual). We managed to head away without too much hassle & made it to Ōtaki Forks around midday. It was an absolute scorcher of a day, & we were left sweltering in the sun for the first hour. We sought asylum from the heat in the shady bush haven, & managed to stop for lunch about 20m short of our intended location because we were just too hungry. Following a fast feed, we flew up to Field with a few fallacious finales. The post-lunch-buzz was starting to wear off, but we tackled Table Top & Dennan without too much complaint. Overcoming our own laziness definitely became a struggle on the final stretch to Hut Mound, a single shoelace break would leave us standing stationary for significantly longer than necessary. Regardless, we trekked on into the clouds & arrived at an empty Kime Hut at 4pm.

We were pleasantly surprised to find that we all had full bars at the hut, so we had a bit of a laugh at some bad software design, & then mucked around on the VUWTC website checking out stats for hut bagging & generally being nuisances. Within the hour, more hungry hikers hurried into the hut, hoping to hit the hay. Our new housemates sat at one table cooking meals, while we sat at the other, discussing nicknames for each other & nibbling on feijoa lollies that tasted strangely of onion. As dinner time rolled round we all bowed down to our MVP Alex who carried up the frozen mince & a carton of custard. The shepherd’s pie was an absolute stunner & the brownie with custard was an outstanding dessert, but they both looked hilariously awful in photographs. We wrapped up the night with approximately two hours of shadow puppets, laughing into the early hours while the other hut occupants tried to snooze.

On Sunday morning we again had to overcome our laziness, this time with varying levels of success. We had breakfast in bed, followed by lunch in bed & we argued over tier list rankings of Tararua huts, before we decided we should probably get going at 12pm. After a brutal snowball fight & a few photographs of our less than stunning view of the clouds, we finally got walking. After 5 minutes we stopped to take off a layer of clothes, & after another 5 we stopped again to put that layer back on. It was at this point that Chris realised he had left his beanie behind when we first stopped. Upon his return he was ambushed with snowballs & we finally started making some progress back towards the car park. The walk back was relatively uninteresting, we stopped for lunch on the helicopter pad outside Field Hut, despite already having eaten lunch only a few hours ago before leaving Kime. I don’t think any of us particularly enjoyed the road walk from the forks to the slip, but we had some good chats & Chris even managed to get some mobile gaming in, playing Soul Knight on his phone as he walked. We made it back to the carpark at 4pm, greeted by a lamb standing on a rock. It was a solid 40km of walking over the two days, with some interesting chats amongst our unintentionally software developer exclusive crew.

SOMETHING SORT OF VAGUELY SIMILAR TO HUT SIDE

Written by Joe Dillon

It was an overcast day when we started the very modest traverse over the Whakanui Track. While we waited for stragglers (Aran!) to arrive, we chatted about our dream jobs and introduced ourselves to the newbies.

The walk was super short, yet surprisingly diverse in habitats. First there was the podocarp/broadleaf forest, where we were surrounded by giant rātā and extensive climbing lianes. In the drier patches hard beech forest took over, with some truly huge trees all the way down to the river. We were maybe a week too early to see what would probably be a spectacle – the flowering of corybas oblongus orchids. In a month the hillsides would be covered in the tiny white and purple flowered caladenia and thelymitra orchids too. For now, the ground was covered in the bright red-orange flowers of hard beech (clearly it’s a mast year).

As we started the descent into the valley, I had my first hymenophyllum frankliniae, a small, furry-white fern, and my first leptolepia novaezelandiae, a larger, lacey fern.

In true bushcraft fashion, we encountered a challenge; an injured member of another tramping group. By the time we arrived, they were already stretchered and morphined, but were all the way up a hill, well away from the waiting helicopter. A few of us helped out, carrying her down and loading her into the helicopter.

From there, we were on the flat, with nothing to do but looking for somewhere to stay the night. We marched through the riverine gravels of the Ōrongorongo, over mat daisies and native plantains, eventually arriving somewhere that looked suitable. This was a small kahikatea forest, covered in lichens in green and silver. As we set up our flies, it of course began to rain. Quite soon, we discovered a problem. Under one fly, a puddle developed, wetting sleeping mats and packs. In my fly, several holes bypassed water, which quickly did the same. This wasn’t going to work.

We scrambled to figure something out, eventually landing on a river crossing and a tramp to Tommy’s family hut. This had to be quick, with the river quickly expanding in the rain. Nine of us set out, packs and all, across the river and up the hill as it got dark. We arrived at the last minute before sunset. Me, chef Joe, decided on sauteing onion in wine, before ‘frying’ beans and chilli (without oil) and deglazing with tomato. Dinner was served and quickly demolished. While we planned on cards, it didn’t come to pass, with the rest of the night being spent chatting.

The general consensus was that Tommy’s hut was the best thing since freeze-dried tramping food. We woke up refreshed, backs feeling great, just in time to see Tommy and Nathan head off to check on the river. They came back to tell us that, no, we would not be getting across that day. We hunkered down, cooking our breakfast – sausages, with eggs and potatoes fried in the leftover fat. Tommy got back and saying getting across would be difficult, but we’d give it a crack anyway.

BUSHCRAFT

FLY SIDE

Written by Anthony Baker

The plan for bushcraft was action packed: there was gonna be bushbashing, river crossing, star gazing. We should have known that things might turn out differently when Kathleen couldn’t find the compasses.

On the walk in from Catchpool Valley we passed a school group – one of their party had fainted. Thankfully, the Rescue Helicopter was already there and a competent paramedic had the situation under control. He asked for some “strong men” to help carry the stretcher down the steep and muddy Jacob’s Ladder, which we were happy to do (and not only the men), working in concert with some other trampers already at the scene. Even though it didn’t feel like much I think we can be proud of ourselves.

Not long after, we set up the flies in a flat patch pretty close to Big Bend. Soon it started raining. We all huddled in Kathleen’s tarp for shelter, as that had been established as “the party tent”. The rain dashed a lot of our hopes to do bushcrafty things like bush bashing. But not to worry – instead, we spent several fruitful hours making friendship bracelets with the paracord Alex had brought.

In the meantime, the rain was coming down hard. It was at this point that we discovered that some of the flies were leaky. Water was coming through. People’s sleeping bags were getting dripped on. In a stroke of good fortune Tommy mentioned that some people could stay at his family hut. The majority of the group set off, abandoning the rest of us to our fates.

We fly-overstayers spent the rest of the day glued in the same position, our legs going numb. Nachos was for dinner, although sadly without cheese. Our night in the fly was not tooo uncomfortable although three of the group had chosen to lie sideways across their three sleeping mats. Why? Good question. I was worried Kate might roll in her sleep and push me onto the dirt (luckily, she didn’t). A couple of the pegs of the fly came undone in the middle of the night, so that it sagged close to our faces.

We woke up to Kathleen telling us that the river was high, and the others didn’t feel comfortable crossing it– they were looking for another way across. We had visions of being stuck there for a day or more, calculating if we had enough provisions. But it was all good in the end. The others somehow made it across. We were happily reunited, and took a photo showing off our friendship bracelets, and on the way back Joe pointed out some plants. Maybe we can try bush bashing next year.

Written by Kathleen Griffin

Eggs on Holdsworth

A massive cold front had blown through Wellington earlier in the week, with snow falling as low as 400m. We did a very spontaneous walkies up Mt Climie on Thursday evening, but decided we still craved that rare October snow, so on Saturday we ventured higher to find the goods.

Six of us headed out over the Remutaka hill & after a brief stop at the Featherston bakery for breakfast, we were climbing up the mountain. Cas & I headed off first because we thought we would be the slowest pair, but I may have boosted a little too hard & we made it to Rocky Lookout well before the others. After a quick snack & sunscreen we continued up to Mountain Shelter for a water refill. We had seen a few patches of snow on the way, but the patches were becoming a lot more regular as we gained altitude.

It wasn’t the quickest ascent. Daniel had the hiccups for most of the way up, & Joe was constantly pausing to take photos of plants. But after a few photo stops we made it to Powell Hut, approximately 2hrs walking total. We bumped into a few other VUWTC members, & had lunch outside the hut, admiring the panoramic views over the Wairarapa. The tops were pretty windy & there was less snow up there, but we did manage to take some quick snaps & throw a few snowballs.

We all had a few things to do that afternoon, Chris was throwing a party that started at 6pm & we were all planning on attending. It was 3pm so we decided that we should proabably get a move on & head back to Wellington.

Orienteering!

Otonga Score Event

Run and Recounted by Alex Monckton

Sometimes following the same pre-built routes through the wilderness just isn’t exciting enough, which is why orienteering exists; a sport that’s all about running wildly into the bush, testing your navigation skills and getting lost to your heart’s content. Despite being an incredibly fun and exciting activity, it isn’t hugely popular with many people who’ve never tried it before. So, I decided to run a VUWTC trip to go to one of the locally run orienteering events and let some newbies give it a go. It was a great success, everyone had a good time and I will definitely be running more in the future to help make it more accessible for keen trampers that want to do more.

What Is Orienteering? - An Overview

Your objective when orienteering is to navigate around a course on unfamiliar terrain in the fastest time possible using only a map and compass. The course consists of a number of controls that are placed at various locations around the map, and by using special not-so-high-tech orienteering gear, you can record whenever you visit one of them. Depending on where you’re orienteering, these bright white and orange controls can be set up (well, almost) anywhere to create a new unique course every time.

Courses range in difficulty levels, a beginner ‘white’ course will exclusively follow tracks, fences, or other obvious features, the challenge being knowing which one you're on and which to take at an intersection. This ranges all the way to the ‘red’ level where controls are far from these obvious features, out in the middle of the bush or somewhere where more complex symbols like detailed contours have to be relied on and compasses come very much in handy.

Otonga Score/Rogaine Event

The event we went to, run by the Hutt Valley Orienteering Club, was a type of orienteering called a rogaine. Instead of a fixed course we all had the same map of 27 scattered controls, and 1 hour to find as many as we could. In this type of orienteering you have the freedom to only visit the controls you want to find, and in what order, but you also have a time limit you have to be back by. The event was around Belmont park at the Oakleigh St entrance, with the majority of the controls in the bush but also a few out on the streets. There were a range of points up for grabs, but being late back after the time limit would mean point reductions (thankfully none of us were late). It is, however, important to punch the finish control otherwise you don’t get any score at all…

KNOBS

An off-track adventure

Patrick Hayes

The basis for this trip was a little (12 hour) daywalk back in the summer of 2020/21, where we scaled the supplejack-infested slopes of Square Knob in an effort to make the stroll to North Ohau Hut a bit more interesting. Having stared at the topo map quite a bit this day, the possibilities for further ridge travel seemed rather enticing - in fact, one could potentially navigate over to another shapely mound, Triangle Knob, almost without encountering any triangles of the plastic orange variety on the way.

Come 6 months later, the perfect mix of good weather and time off reared its head and we once again set off up the hill towards our oblong-phallus landmark. We didn’t even get lost and wander in a circle for an hour this time. On reaching this point of no re(c)t(angle)urn, a 270 degree turn was taken, and brand new territory was embarked on. This being the Tararuas, we both expected a fair amount of impenetrable scrub and the odd bit of vertical down-climbing…it turned out though that there were actually well-kept and taped trails the whole way along, which is probably the reason we actually completed the trip given the winter hours and the snow yet to come.

After stopping due to my phone ringing (apparently I passed my job interview the week prior - a rather glorious setting to receive such news in, though cell coverage seems to be invading further and further into the bush these days), we pushed onwards, past a turnoff to the more ancient formation of Pyramid Knob (ironically a 3-dimensional mix of both squares and triangles…maybe going here is the “tl;dr” version of our trip), over the prominent Tawirikohukohu (‘stirring fog’...though we must have encountered it’s day off; was hardly a cloud in the sky) and finally downwards into the Mangahao catchment, and to Mangahao Flats hut for the night. We split the chores - Joe on food, me on warmth. Joe succeeded in making food. I succeeded in getting warm by my 2 hour attempt to start a fire - it didn’t start. Sorry Joe.

The next day, we pushed basically straight off the track up another indistinct old trail, towards our 3-sided waypoint. The weather was again gloriouswhich was just as well, because just before the Main Range, the ground got noticeably white and fluffy… and cold. I’d been in sneakers up to this point, and the combination of darkness setting in and still being in shorts and a t-shirt meant that unlike Joe who was having a ball of a time taking photos of the sunset, I was almost running along the ridge trying not to get frostbite (eventually the pair of boots I’d put in my pack just in case had to come out, along with actual layers). We finally made it to the two-person Arete Biv, which somehow seemed warmer than the night before, despite being 1000 metres higher.

Many photos were taken of the sunrise the next morning (and still, not even a hint of cloud in the sky - 3 days in a row of this is definitely a rarity, especially in winter), before setting back over Arete peak and back down to the Ohau valley and ‘frontcountry’ territory. We still managed a bit more track avoidance with a side hustle to Deception Spur, and then a high sidle trail Joe had discovered above the river to take us back to the car. Sometime later, I realised that the Tararuas contain a “Conical Knob” as well - if you could find the remaining “X Knob”, you could create an X-box controller trail…maybe this would supersede Carkeek as the ultimate game for club members to play.

Remutaka Rail Trail

T'was a grey and drizzly morning on the Remutaka Pass when ten trampers set off along some unnamed road that led to the rail trail. The walk was fine, it was a fairly boring 4WD track, I think the cyclists had the right idea. The company was good though (you gotta go on a tramp with Joe if you haven't already). There was one river crossing for which most of the group, like the hardened trampers we are, took off our shoes and socks. It started to get interesting when we reached the actual rail trail, passed the 'summit' (not actually a summit!! no stars on yelp) and came across the cool tunnels. Tunnels were indeed cool, four and a half stars on yelp. After a couple more tunnels and an epic swingbridge (4.75), the plan was to have a peaceful afternoon walking back the way we came. However I turned around to see half the group huddled around a phone looking at topo maps and talking in hushed tones. Oh no, this can't be good. Especially since it was the Patrick/Tommy/Alex trio, who have altogether too much energy and too much leg between them. Patrick, with a glint in his eye, informed the group that he thought it was probably doable to bush-bash/ ridge-clamber directly to the Remutaka lookout rather than taking the boring way back. And like sheep, we followed him. Down into the gully, up the stream where water was being blown straight upwards, through thick gorse... until half of us decided to be cowardly/sensible (you decide) and take the normal way back. The way back sure was normal and peaceful, apart from our dear Anthony's CATASTROPHIC AND DEBILITATING THUMB INJURY. You'll have to ask the adventurous crew what exactly they got up to but from photos it looks like they had a lovely, windy, mountain-goaty time. Disaster struck when Team Sensible got back to the carpark and realized that both the drivers - and their keys - were somewhere far away with Team GaleForce. A very, very cold couple of hours of waiting ensued, a good part of that being spent in a literal ditch to try and avoid the rain. With darkness falling and phone calls unanswered, we were accepting that the options may be hitch-hiking or crime ("do you think Patrick would mind if I broke into his car with shoelaces??"). Luckily, Team GaleForce trudged unto the carpark just as I was unlacing my boots, and we all made our way home via the Brown Owl fish and chip shop. P.S if anyone knows what ordering 'Zesties' will get you, please please let me know, Google has no answers, this is torturing me.

Author's note: this was written in twenty minutes, the night before Heels was due to the printers. I take no responsibility for spelling errors, factual errors, or reckless hyperbole. Enjoy.

Kate Morris

Waiopehu Limericks

from the Metaquizzical Minds of Morris & Monckton

Nine brave souls donned raincoats and boots, spent five hours stumbling on roots. Thick mud and wet gear, but that didn’t scare, the tramping club’s newest recruits. (Kate)

It came, the bad weather we dreaded, so Waiopehu the fellowship headed, Muddy and rocky, nachos, hot choccy. Despite the rain, twas a trip most splendid. (Alex)

I dragged sleepy friends out of bed, ‘The views will be worth it!’, I said. We tramped up the hill, expecting a thrill, but got eyefuls of grey cloud instead. (Kate)

Peaks Weeks 1 Day! 4

The plan was simple: to get to the top of the four major peaks in central Wellington in one day.

Kaukau, Te Ahumairangi, The Brooklyn Turbine, and Mt Vic.

The execution was also fairly simple, as it turns out: Welly has so many good tracks that all you’ve got to do is just keep walking.

Fun-loving-I-don’t-know-thesepeople group shot at the Mt Vic lookout.

Photo by Self Timer, 2021

Fun-loving-I-don’t-know-thesepeople group shot at the Brooklyn Turbine.

Photo by Self Timer, 2021

Fun-loving-I-don’t-know-thesepeople group shot at the Mt Kaukau lookout.

Photo by Member of the General Public. Thank you for your service.

2022 Stats 2021 Stats

Peaks: 4 Hours: 6.5

Kilometres: 21ish Metres of vertical elevation climbed: 940ish Dogs: 52 Cats: 2

Peaks: 4 Hours: 8ish Kilometres: 21ish Metres of vertical elevation climbed: 940ish Dogs: ??? Cats: ??? (I forgot to count.)

?AN: Did they make it up Te Ahumairangi? They say the did but then where is the fun-loving I-don’t-know-these-people shot? Better luck next year guys Xx

Work Titles and Artists

Clockwise from Top Left:

BBN Lennox Crowe

‘Misty Mountain Hop’

HIS Kate Morris ‘Mt Holdsworth, Winter 1997’

HIS Alex Paterson ‘A man for all seasons (1973)’

LE Aran Mason ‘Stars at Makara’

NFE Lennox Crowe ‘Kea at the Cobb’

NFF Hamish Edwards ‘Mushroom’

FMC PHOTO COMPETITION

2022 CATEGORY WINNERS

Work Titles and Artists

from Top Left:

ABW Colan Balkwill ‘Home above the clouds’

Lennox Crowe

Way over Cupola’

Lennox Crowe

Owen Dawn’

Aran Mason

in the morning’

Joe Todd

McKellar’

Nicholas Jones

was really cold’

Kevin de Lange ‘Boots off in Anne Hut’

BBW Colan Balkwill

Goblin’

MERCH

Winning Design by Zoe Appleyard

Kebabs are the ULTIMATE post tramp feed: fresh, saucy, crunchy, made by someone else... I digress, this compilation of reviews, was written deliriously, but very, very seriously.

Lokanta - Paraparaumu (Pre Snowcraft)

- Pillowy

- Multi sensory experience

- Demands full mind/body/soul concentration

- Refreshing (in some ways)

- Spiritually re-grounding (in all ways)

- Cleansed brain from modern society

- Transcendental layering

- Undressed it with my eyes , and my hands

- So good we’d eat even the foil - Tantalising metallic covering

The authentic Paraparaumu experience(subliminal, whimsical)

- Vegan satay slay

- I have a piece stuck in my teeth, as an everlasting reminder of this life path altering experience.

- Like a dream, but for the first time I felt fullyawake.

Kebabaholik - Whanganui (Post Pouakai Circuit)

Nice guys finish last, but not this one!

Our meals were given to us very quickly, tasting like the long-awaited summer sun. This spot has Whanganui’s best one man show and real good real food, give it a go. Kebabaholik - guaranteed to cure any mountainous mood.

Nora Kebab, again - Upper Hutt (Post Cone Loop)

The three wayfarers of Waiohine (Neve, Claus and Amon) had travelled far and wide since their last venture to Nora. They had seen the centre of the earth and discovered the modern world’s long lost Speculoos. Now, they knew exactly what they needed.

The mist was hanging, their feet were smelling, but there it lay, that old familiar haunt, a beacon of light glowing in the sparkling rain of Upper Hutt.

The carnage, the cold, the uncountable callouses - they knew it was worth it, for the taste of that sweet falafel was like sunshine (with dustings of déjà vu).

Some say the three wayfarers of Waiohine are still wayfaring to this day - jaunting, jesting, and spreading the word of Nora Kebab.

Nora Kebab - Upper Hutt (Post Tutuwai Hut)

Tastes like I’m a hungry horse and I’m eatinga meadow.

Feels like a Christmas present wrapped upwith a bow.

Thanks for staying open for the best post tramp place to go.

List of things trampers have left behind in my car By Alex Monckton

TO THE PARTY KID WHO SWEARS THEY WILL NEVER GO TRAMPING AGAIN:

(You will)

Once you’ve grown your own life you’ll fall in love with how your shoulders feel carrying it on your back.

When you’ve stopped vaping up storms you’ll see how magic the tricks of real clouds are.

Once you’ve hated the hurt and the dirt and the world hard enough it’ll draw its curtains and let you see it.

You’ll begin to spend your spare time skinny dipping and bush bashing.

You’ll get high by scaling boulders and your Tuesdays will be designated to tacos and trip planning.

Your calendar will turn green and so will your clothes and your toes

and the eyes you stare into.

You’ll decline facebook invites to give your weekends to the wild. You’ll learn to like the aches.

Your friends will say they don’t know you anymore, the only parties you’ll attend are balls in the bush or birthdays in bivvys.

You will.

Once you’ve outgrown your old life the nicotine of nature will be all you need.

It’s Not A Race

By Helena McLachlan, 2017

“Have fun but stay safe,”

“You won’t be needing that,”

“Did you pack extra pants?”

And “It’s not a race!”

The last minute packing of ‘not’ forgotten things.

Excitement, this much? Can only mean one thing. Off to the mountains!

The summits! The slopes! Or maybe, just maybe, a well trodden road.

You joke about saying, It’s the journey that counts! But how you only say that once the journeying’s out.

Singing and laughing and feeling quite proud. How tough and undaunted and hard-core we are. The sign posts, less frequent, more ominous too, let you know yet again you are far out and true.

Ploughing right on, till there’s more potholes than road, you come to the edge, the line between worlds, the brink of a new one, who knows what it holds. Scraping together

some last minute pluck.

Scraping higgledy piggledy packs from the trunk.

Deep breaths are taken, thinking thoughts, strong. encouragements made, the maps not thaat long.

The winds howl with the trees, they yodel in sync.

Each step snaps a twig; nerves rise then they sink. Joining the dots, in one huge constellation. Leaping the mud, with growing elation. Each corner, each rise, each faux peak taunting your eyes.

Step after step, after backbreaking step. Is that a gleam, of a ramshackle roof? or is it just lacebarks, with lichen-y roots?

You get into a rhythm, left leg after right.

Eyeing your foot holds (and missing some sights). The incline increases, the tree line falls back . Surrounded by grasses, where the heck is the track?

Leatherwoods loom in their waist high masses, while Aciphylla colensoi

A Sight for Sore Legs

Photo by Helena McLachlan

lies in wait in the grasses. Each step, feels like your last. In need of a sanctuary; “Land ho!” At last!

There is a glimpse of that gastly DoC ‘green’! Throwing your packs down, damp clothes on the floor, digging out new socks, blankets and more.

Challenging eyes invite a few rounds of cards then another (and another!)

Mountain air takes its toll. Into bed at half six? Unheard of, oh well. Empty cup o’ soups, the fire dies down.

Snores rock the bunks, dew sprinkles the ground. Into the night. the stars come out. Winking and playing, “I’m not ‘tuckered out’!”

Possums shriek, ruru yowl at the stars. The wind picks up “Yeah, tired now.” In the morning, you wake up cold.

Everything hurts, Those feet can’t be yours.

Grumbling and groaning And giggling still too, Trying to work out

Whose muddy boots who’s.

Grabbing some feed; you don’t feel like much. Exhilarated still, but more like a slug.

Setting off, obscenely fast, gotta make the pretzels last. It goes in a flash but drags on and on.

Reminding yourself

for the one millionth round

“It’s the journey that counts?

... but the car sounds so warm!”

Have we been here before?

Is that mossy cairn new?

Are we walking in circles?!

If only we knew.

When something at last, a glimmer of hope, “Ayyyy! Dude!

You see that sign too?!”

Your feet feel lighter. Your back might not ache. You’re like Dasher or Donner.

“Hell yeah it’s a race!”

Tripping and flying, your legs can’t keep up.

Not really caring ‘bout the Knee deep, thick mud.

The end is in sight.

We knew that the whole time. The journey did count but The finish line’s fine!

Collapsing giddily, back in the car: “Dead legs!”

“Prune feet!”

“Battlescars!”...

“Life’s sweet!”

Mariano trying to find Arete on Arete Photo by Helena McLachlan

REO KEA

Te Reo Kea is a poetry anthology compiled in 1963 by members of the VUWTC. Ex-club member Chris Little has been kind enough to donate a copy to the university archives and transcribed the following works from the well-loved and well-travelled pages.

Printed by Gestetner, a since obselete copying machine, these poems show that the flavour of the tramping club, and knack for lassitude fueled poety, has not been diluted, and actually remains eerily similar (with the addition of better Te Reo pronunciation!)

“The Changing of the Guard” - VUWTC Logo Update, Circa. 1980

The Happy Tramper

Harry the tramper, that fine lusty lad, he tramped in the ranges, fine weather and bad. He’d far sooner walk than go on a bike. A ride in a car? He’d much rather hike. One day old Harry, his pack on his back, set off very early for the Tauherenenik[au] Track. He shot up the Puffer not pausing for breath, then down the far side with zip and with zest.

Over Smith’s Creek and away from the trail, the weather was sunny with no sign of hail. He reached Canyon Creek in time for some lunch, so he took out some figs and started to munch. He ate biscuits and cheese with apricot jam, and then had some bread with a slice of cold ham.

After eating his fill, in the absence of beer, he bent down and drank from the stream cold and clear. He shouldered his pack and set off at a trot but the pace proved too hard as the weather was hot. He slowed to a walk, and was trudging along, when a bell-bird ahead of him burst into song. The melodious sound put a spring in his step, he forgot all his aches and forgot all his sweat. With a ro-tiddle-oh and a fiddle-dee-dee he carried right on till he reached old A.D. Soon the embers were dying and dinner was done; in the bushes outside the last rays of the sun. With a sigh of contentment and monstrous great yawn Harry spread out his Snowline and slept soundly till dawn.

Specific poet unknown. The poets are among the following: Peter Barry, Brian Dawkins, Michael Heenan, Helen Henderson, Laurie Hoare, Les McLachan, Margaret McPherson, Les Malloy, Bruce Popplewell, John Powell, Linda Redmond, Steve Reid, Jenny Ross, John Ross, Peter Squires, Bill Stephens, Terry Waghorn & Fraser Walls.

Left photo of original anthology taken by Chris/Christabel Little, 2022. Photos this page submitted by ex-club member Jenny Visser. Taken circa 1986.

Ode to a Mountain Night(Or Something)

The quiet beauty of a moonlit track, with light and shadow dancing fast before the eyes of he who walks these wooded ways, is known still more.

The boisterous wind, which rustles, flicks and plays with each small leaf and floating fern, reflects the liveliness of bush in starlit night. The mystic rays each river stone inspect, then splashing o’er to run and jump with glee, they quickly trip, and hide in some small gap, then gone; but more replace them as they flee. See now! Too late - the golden is gone, and dead the night once more the dark clouds sap the silent loveliness of nature’s home.

Four Winds

Sometimes the wind blows cold - clear. Carries leaves, shreds of paper. Swirling - dancing. Fresh excitement, noise - movement. Rushing throngs down streets.

Leaping - laughingly from rooftop to rooftop.

Sometimes the wind blows warm and friendly through moonlit darkness. Intimately it whispers filling every secret corner of the city.

Seeing all - telling all, telling all it sees as it passes the solitary figure, walking.

Sometimes, in the winds own bleak valleys it resists intrusion - unleashing, biting frozen fury of flying ice. The intruders clone huddled are each alone.

Fighting - isolated. Sometimes the wind blows dully, intermittently, rattling hollow doorways, stirring forgotten dust, ignored. by the solitary figure, dreaming.

Water Being

The night sea is sleek as oil, black and smooth and slow. It streams through my fanning hair and holds my body. Leaning on the heavy darkness. Water surrounding, yet surging and frothing past taut skin and muscles. I strive to the distant fire-white phosphorescence which glitters the silent swaying black depths. The sea is mine — is me.

Left: VUWTC Snowcraft course 1971 Arthurs Pass NP Graeme S. climbing practice Laurie G. & Alan Reid onlooking. Photographer unknown.

Right, colour: Submitted by ex-club member Jenny Visser. Taken circa 1986.

Right, black & white: VUWTC Archives

Why?

Why the long walk? Why the long climb? Why only the heels of guy or gal? Why the weight of a great big pack? Why the sweat running down the back? Why the slipping and sliding? Why through the storm and the calm? Why? Why? Why?

CROSSWORD BY KEVIN DE LANGE AND KATE MORRIS

Photo by Colan Balkwill

A SCIENTIFIC GUIDE (QUIZ)

Gently rip the sheep from their flock for your entertainment :)

Q1 What is your ideal trip length?

a) Weekend Warrior (Normal person’s 4 day-er over one weekend).

b) Overnight, EVERYnight, back to back quickies ;)

c) One night away from my creature comforts only.

I’m a seventh day adventurist.

To the uber eats guy.

I’ll never come back to civilisation.

Q2 How are you getting to the trail head?

No wagon? No worries.

A Hearse.

2004 Toyota Vitz.

Public transport except referring to hitchhiking.

e) I fell asleep in my flatmates car and now I’ve been roped into whatever this is.

El Motobici.

Q3 Would you do it in a backcountry hut?

a) Only if there’s a fire going.

Why wouldn’t you?

c) Only if both parties have legitimately paid for their backcountry hut passes.

Yeah.

No.

Best place to meet babes.

Q4 What is your aesthetic?

a) Wetsockcore.

A&Ecore.

Cottagecore.

Fairycore

Noroviruscore.

Goblincore.

Q5 Which of these roadkills sounds the mostappetising?

a) The OG; Possum.

A Hitchhiker.

An Indian Myna (Acridotheres tristis).

Pukeko.

Rattus rattus flattus.

South Island Kokako.

Q6 How do you like your dunnys?

a) Without a door - everything’s better with a view.

With a door.

c) Lots of local flora: moss, mould, mushrooms.

d) Lots of local fauna: spiders, beetles, mozzies.

e) Securely located within the building.

f) Bear Grylls it.

Q7 Tag yourself, tramping injury edition

a) Severe, debilitating diarrhoea that ruins the rest of the tramp because no one will share their toilet paper with you and then they all want to go to the Hanmer Springs pools afterwards but you have to stay in the car because it still hasn’t stopped >:( b) Crampon to the knee.

c) Fleas.

d) Sneezing so hard you concuss yourself on a comically timed branch.

e) Sunburn so bad you seep peanut butter out of your face.

f) Being lifted up by a Wellington-esqe wind and dragged down Whakapapa’s Rock Garden on your face (sans snow).

Q8 What’s in your water bottle?

a) Electrolytic Ionising Crack Based Hydrolysing Sing Star Mystery Drink.

b) ActuaLLy I’m UltraLight, I don’t bring water.

c) Goon.

d) Rum.

e) Water :)

f) W-w-w-W-water? *Dehydrated rasp*.

Q9 What’s on your feet ;) ?

a) Toes shoes.

b) Full shank, full time.

c) Brand new boots + full set of blisters.

d) Sexy Tevas / Moderately sexy Crocs.

e) Running shoes.

f) Third generation hand-me-down boots that have crossed Ka Tiritiri o te Moana mULtiPLe times.

Q10 What song is stuck in your head?

a) Poi E.

b) The Anti-coital Playlist.

c) Taylor Swift but only the bridge verses.

d) Lady Gaga’s entire discography.

e) The national anthem.

f) doof.

Remember which letter you answered mostoften and turn the page to find out where thewinds of destiny will take you!

Mostly B’s = Copland Shelter. Aoraki/Mt Cook National Park. You. Me. Type 3 fun. With a grand maximum of 5 visits a year, this is your best bet if you love it in a hut. The seductive nature of near death experiences aside this baby looks like a steam punk caterpillar that’s just found out how much you spent on those new boots. (Shocked? Disgusted? Slightly turned on?). If you make it up here then DOC has decided ‘good on you, you deserve a lil’ chuckle’.

Mostly A’s = Tarn Ridge Hut, Tararua Forrest Park. She’s cute as, if a little mouldy. Okay a lot mouldy. BYO mattress type mouldy. But hey its not about the destination, you love slogging it up hill on your day off so you’re fine with whatever right? Pros: Tussocks, Toilet has no door, You can see Levin AND Masterton from here!! Cons: The tarns of Tarn Ridge are a metric ‘way aways’, Only a weekender if you are a nerd for leg day.

Mostly D’s = Lagoon Saddle A-Frame. Nestled in the ‘burbs of Arthur’s Pass, this cutie pie will quench the artist in you. If you don’t regularly worship a-frame huts then the frost bite gods will sort you out quick smart for venturing here. Now with even less insulation than a standard dog box this minor royalty of hut will woo you with an approach featuring native aaand technicallyinvasive-but-still-stunning flora and fauna (Piglets? Enjoy ‘em while they’re cute. Redwoods? Let’s Anne of Green Gables it up in here.) I hear the rest of the ‘circuit+hitchhiking sitch’ is pretty droolworthy too but I forgot to pray to the Frostbite gods.

Mostly C’s = Sandy Bay Hut, Te Uruwera National Park. This postcard destination would perform better at the tenancy tribunal than your Wgtn flat so surely it’s worth the night away from those creature comforts. Less tourist and rodent infested than it’s neighbouring track; Lake Waikaremoana; legend has it if you ask DOC nicely you can hire a tin dingy for a respectable 10NZD and paddle across the idylic Waikareiti, passing the island in a lake with a lake and an island on it as well as shaving off 2hrs walking time. It is an 8 hour drive from Wgtn. I really just included this one to ask ‘should you go here please collect the bible an unnamed gear custodian stole from Sayer’s hut and left here and return it to it’s god-decreed home. Ta Xx

Mostly F’s = Lower Gridiron Shelter, Kahurangi National Park. So you’re a bad boy huh? Picked all the quirky disaster-bunker-loving answers. We see you. If you are yet to make the transition from DOC huts to sleeping face down in the alpine stunted foliage then look no further. Supplying all the openness your parents never showed you, and the bunk bed for one we all secretly crave, this rock bivvy rocks.

Mostly E’s = Caught Short, of the ‘Taihape Opshop Conservation Area’ (Babe needs conserving), is the only acceptable place to acquire clothing that doesn’t have a life dependant element. To Shamelessly plug this tramping adjacent goldmine, Never worry about your wardrobe or your step count again because this bucketlist location boasts free parking right outside the door. Perfect for those gingerly retreating from a Snowcraft or those gingerly not doing much tramping.

Trip report mad libs

It was a __________ morning when some __________ hikers decided to head out on an adventure to ____________. It was a very __________ walk, so everyone made sure to bring _________. Not far into the walk _________ tripped over __________ and broke their _________, but luckily ________ had a spare. On the way they saw a _________ _________ so they stopped to take a photo. Finally at _______, they arrived at their destination. There were a lot of ________ around, so they set up camp near __________. They didn't bring a tent so they made one out of __________ and a __________. For dinner they mixed _______ with ________ to create a _________ meal. Everyone looked _________ after eating it. That evening they huddled round the _________ and told stories about _________ until they fell asleep. In the middle of the night they thought they heard a ________ nearby, they all felt _________. However it turned out to just be __________, so ___________ ___________ it. The next morning _________ woke up first and cooked _________ for breakfast. It was a __________ day, so they started walking. The walk back only took them ___________. When they arrived at the carpark they got back into their ___________."Oh no, I left my ________ at the campsite" said __________. They all _________ and went home anyway.